


Late Beginnings (Levi x Reader)

by Aars



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Drama, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/M, Humanity's Strongest, Rival Relationship, Rivalry, Romance, Slow Burn, Violence, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2020-04-05 19:57:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19047310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aars/pseuds/Aars
Summary: You are in dire need of a harsh wake-up call from your perspective on life. Luckily, Humanity's Strongest is more than up to the task of placing a naive, young mechanic in her place.After being entrusted with what the Survey Corps believe is the next step to victory against the Titans, you are set in an uncomfortable position of self-doubt, a no pain, no gain mentality from your superiors, and to make matters worse, you are under the full supervision of none other than Levi himself.





	1. Words of Demurral

 

Credits: S_Erwin14 on Twitter

 

* * *

   **CHAPTER ONE**

Words of Demurral

* * *

 

 **T** he blinding darkness of your room feels colder than last night. Your eyelids are shutting, heavy and swollen like wet drapes closing together to hide behind them a couple of burning, bloodshot eyes that wander at the void of your room. But what else did you expect after hours of incessant crying? Certainly not a clean face free of tears and snot.

Body kissing the entirety of the mattress, you are sprawled over your bed, numb and barely awake. It all became so much for your brain the night before that the muscle just stopped, frozen in a single memory you can't claw away. All those gut-wrenching emotions taking over your body yesterday are buried under a blank space of dullness.

You feel nothing.

Still, there is a buzzing around your mind. A thick, translucent curtain, too heavy to push away and too invisible to perceive. But you  _know_ it is there, covering your thoughts, translating them into macabre sadness. It's strange and overwhelming, nearly enough to suffocate.

There is a hankering as well, to physically stick your hand inside your head and wrench out that feeling, though you don't have much of a choice but to try and think about something else. Which is perfectly useless, as it's clung to you and follows wherever your mind drifts to.

Tiredness has crawled through your body but getting some shut-eye feels as far fetched as forgetting. Your brain is on high-alert, thinking and thinking and thinking, torturing you with nothing and everything at the same time. All you want is some sleep and peace of mind, for the Walls' sake. Something so insignificant yet impossible. It's nine in the morning and you have to open the repair shop, go to the market for groceries, deliver a finished product to a client, and continue working on another project. 

It all requires an excessive amount of verve you currently lack, you can't even find the energy or motivationto bring yourself out of bed, much less to finish the never-ending list of tasks you are so used to, but that now seems unfeasible. Hell, you can't even speak. Not to yourself and most certainly not to anyone. You are done. Exhausted, both mentally and physically.

That exhaustion invites the grim wish of death, a secret desire you have been craving for longer than you dare to admit. It has reached its hand toward you countless of times, of which more than once you almost took. But there is always  _something_  that won't let you go, it chains you to the life you want to escape.

Maybe it's the unfinished projects you have been working on. Or is it the unsolicited responsibility of feeding the stray cat that visits you each morning? Perhaps even the repair shop you have grown so fond of.

Rubbish.

You know it was your mother. 

It was thanks to her, the only person once left in your life, that you've never left this world. She was the one holding you back, though now gone, the cage keeping you from throwing yourself to the embrace of death has finally opened.

'For now, I'll stay alive' you've always told yourself. What a silly promise, gone with the wind as easy as it once came, even if it held some sort of significance back in more happy days, which are long over and replaced with clouded thoughts.

 _Well, now is a good time as any,_ you say in silence.

Your head turns to the left, where a nightstand is in place beside your bed. Stretching your arm to its drawer, you pull it out and stick your hand inside. Rummaging through the countless trinkets and small objects, at the far back your fingers curl around the metallic sturdiness you are looking for.

You take it out. A gun.

Without studying it much, you push the cylinder to the side, staring at each of the chambers, all with their own round. You click the cylinder back to its place, one finger slithering to the trigger as you drag the muzzle to your temple. There is nothing worth saying or thinking, for that matter, the crushing silence of a lonely home is enough statement.

You will just pull the trigger. And done. Just like that. No second thoughts or doubts. Not bothering anyone. You will just—

**Knock. Knock. Knock.**

—disappear. 

Or so you thought.

**Knock. Knock. Knock.**

_Great, now I can't even die in peace._

For a brief moment, you consider if firing when someone is at the door is a good idea. Your murky judgment could not care less, but part of you knows it's not, as the last thing you want to do is gather unsolicited attention. You just have to stand up, walk downstairs, open the door and scare off whoever thinks is a good idea to come and be a bother.  

Easier said than done.

You feel as if your bed is glued to your back, its comfiness swaying your thoughts more than they already are, telling you to ignore them. You just have to wait a bit, at least enough so they can leave.

"Miss (L/n)? Are you there?" A deep, masculine voice reaches your ears, followed by more knocking on the front door downstairs.

Just a little longer and they will be gone.

"My name is Erwin Smith. I worked alongside your mother with the Survey Corps," he continues. 

Well, he should have said that earlier. You can send him on his way easier.

With a groan and a puff of air, you leave the gun on the nightstand and drag yourself out of bed. Naked feet rubbing against the wooden floor, wrinkled pajamas and a messed up face, it all makes you look like a sick old lady. Quite the sight to behold, not that it matters to you, anyway.

You hasten downstairs and to the entrance, then unlock the door and pull it into a slit opening, wide enough to merely show your eye.

You stare at him; a tall man with neatly combed blonde hair and blue eyes. Your gaze slides down, squinting at the sight of the Scout uniform.

"I don't need a half-assed apology," you croak, throwing him one last resentful glare and pushing the door to close it, but his knee-high black boot gets in the way.

"I'm not here to make you feel worse about your loss." His voice remains strong and stern. "But if it is of any solace, your pain is shared within the Scouts."

What a pathetic attempt to make you open the door. Though seeing as your death is nearing, you decide there's nothing to lose if you find out what he has to say. You can't feel worse. 

"What do you want, sir?" Your eyes poke between the doorframe. "I hope you are not here for a repair job. I won't be doing any of those anytime soon." You open the door completely and stand before him for a brief moment, then turn around and walk to the counter at the far back, signaling him to come in.

"Not precisely." He closes the entrance and follows you. "Though before we discuss why I am here any further, I want to properly introduce myself."

He extends his right hand to you. "I am Erwin Smith. Captain from the Survey Corps." 

You eye for a second his big hand, wondering if it would crush yours if you grabbed it, but you still take it and shake it. "(F/n), but I guess you already knew that." 

How much of you did your mother tell him is a mystery to you, but if you were to take any guesses, you dare to believe it's little next to nothing. His sole presence is enough to intimidate you, though, so taking your usual inquisitive stance is going to be more of a hard task than you imagined.

Taking his towering height aside, there's a mysterious light surrounding him. His expression has a strange seriousness to it; he seems professional and overly formal. It makes you wonder if that's how all the Scouts act.

Who knows? Maybe he has gone through similar incidents, not that you are interested in his stories and sorrows, you just happen to have a grisly sense of curiosity. You especially want to find out more about his relationship with your mother. Probably not the best time to question him, but your slowly brewing impatience and your natural habit of probing for answers can not be ignored. 

"So, you knew my mom." Your eyes quickly divert from him and to whatever spot in the room they can instantly land. A delicate topic like that cannot be treated with a heart of steel, making it impossible for you to maintain eye contact.

Erwin shares a single nod. "Yes, I did." The corner of his lips pulls back slightly, forming a little smile. "We worked side by side in the field. Risa and I were very close friends, always had each other's back." His gaze seems to drift away, probably too busy searching in a sea of memories for some happy ones. "I still can't accept she is gone." The stern look he wore the first time you saw him returns to his face, almost as if that last sentence flipped a switch in him.   

  _I still can't accept she is gone,_ you repeat inside your mind.

You can't either.

The sensation of incoming tears soars up to your throat and chest, making the brimming sadness in your heart come to a boil again. You try to hide your glistening eyes by dropping your head, and your increasing nervousness by fidgeting with your hands. "Tell me about it," you mutter and swallow hard, wiping a tear rolling down your cheek.

Silence arises, but it isn't the kind of uncomfortable silence one would experience after a breakup or a declaration of unrequited love; it's a comfortable silence, grim, but comfortable. A silence of mourning.

Erwin senses it too but doesn't remain quiet for so long.

"I cannot pretend to understand your pain. Your bond with Risa was completely different from mine, after all. But if there is one thing I can assure you, it's that she would have hated watching us grieve for her." He carefully places one hand over your shoulder and kneels before you, trying to search for your face. "She once told me not to be sorrow over a corpse and a long-gone soul. That her death should only turn into the fire that fuels our fight against the enemy."

A saying worth of consideration for him and his fellow soldiers, not for you. You have never stood face to face to a Titan and, as far as you are concerned, the fire died long ago and the only enemy is the people who sent her away to her death. Humanity can go fuck itself, for all you care. Humanity  _and_ emotions.  

You are so done with them. That tiresome feeling of being on edge, like a sob could escape your throat any time. It's some sort of psychological hell, its gate opening with every word he says. 

Even though you don't agree with his tactful spiel, his words pry apart the still bleeding wound in your chest. They melt your knees and plummet you to the floor. The struggle to contain your weeps finally breaks and urges you to throw your arms around Erwin. You didn't know this part of yourself. So vulnerable, so touch-starved. 

Erwin's stony expression slowly twists into subtle bemusement. He isn't sure how to answer to your reaction, though, somehow, your embrace feels nice and is much needed.

He feels your sobs on his shoulder, and your couple of small hands gripping tightly at his jacket. His arms hover over your thin frame, falling slowly on your back and hugging you in a forbearing embrace. "Don't try to stop hurting so quickly. The path to healing is painfully slow and agonizing, but it's worth it." Erwin takes your shoulders and breaks the hug, hoping to give you an understanding look.

You notice his attempt, snapping your head up, tears and thin snot smeared over your nose. Not the prettiest you have ever looked, but you are too busy feeling awful to regard vanity. "Yeah, um..." you start between sobs, wiping your wet face with the back of your hand. "Sorry for making you watch me being a mess."

Erwin gives you a short smirk and a chuckle. "What are humans without emotions?" He stands up, towering you by a couple of feet. He offers you a hand and you take it, pulling you back up. "Still, as I mentioned before, there's something I need to discuss with you."

Of course, you had forgotten about it. Sadness alone can only do so much for an already downcast girl.

Amidst your melancholic scene, the questions you had for him vanish briefly. Thank the Walls at least one of you has their thoughts well gathered.

You are still heartbroken, though, there is no doubt about it. Nevertheless, you nod quickly and make your way to the counter. Flipping the wooden door on top of it, you walk to the back of the bar and beckon him to follow you.

Both of you climb the flight of spiraled stairs and arrive at the kitchen, where a round, green, wooden table stands at the center of the room, four chairs neatly placed around it. You pull two and sit on one, offering the other to him. 

He complies and sits just a foot or two in front of you. "Perhaps Risa told you in her letters about a gear she was designing. She was quite secretive about it, so very few people knew about her project. You and I, among others."

You stare at him with interest, nodding at his every word. "Yeah, she mentioned something like that in a lot of her letters. I still have them if that's what you are looking for."

Those letters were the only way you could talk with your mother occasionally. Most of the mail you exchanged were brief stories about the highlights of your week. More often than not, though, hers were nearly fantastical narratives of brave men and women, gigantic beasts, and countless tales about a man with the strength of an army. The rest were long explanations about a gear she was working on, accompanied by blueprints or drawings.

It seems obvious to you that he came looking for them. You are not ready to give them up, though, they hold high sentimental value. Maybe you'll allow him to read them with you by his side watching carefully.

But Erwin shakes his head. "No. I'm actually looking for  _you._ " He locks his ocean blues with your eyes.

"What...?" escapes in a mumble, eyebrows closing together in a confused frown. "Me? Why would you ever be looking for..." you signal yourself with both hands and continue "...this?"

A girl in pajamas with bed hair, a face stained with dry tears, bloodshot eyes, and a mind full of negativity. Not the perfect combination by any means, much less a considerable candidate for a project of  _that_ magnitude.

"Your mother could not fulfill her vision, even if she made significant progress, she wasn't able to complete it," he explains. "Our commander sent me to find someone capable of carrying out the gear. He insisted on consulting engineers from Factory City, so here I am."

The battle of wits has begun. Little did you know, you have already lost it. His words sink deep in your bones and brain, it feels almost as if he was casting a spell on you.

Albeit he says some things that only fuel the urge to roll your eyes. You? An engineer like those working at the factory? Not the wisest decision to mistake you for one. That's what you think, at least.

"You'd be better off going to the factory and asking them,  _actual_ engineers. I'm not nearly as good as my mother was, so I really doubt I'd be of any use." The point of your argument is summarized by the brisk movements you make as you fold your arms.

The intensity in your stare conveys perfectly your thoughts to him, but just to be sure he understands, you glare at him longer. "You somehow managed to get past the security here in Factory City. You better not waste your chance and talk to someone who can do whatever you want me to do."

Case in point.

You feel it. You know that after that he is going to stand up and leave.

But you are wrong. Very,  **very**  wrong. 

"Miss (L/n), it's only logical to finish the canvas with the same brush you started with." His eyes are fixed on you, and you can instantly feel he knows you know he is right.

"Good luck finding it, then," you retort, nearly huffing a puff of frustrated air. 

In response, Erwin raises one of his bushy eyebrows only slightly, throwing at you a subtle hint of disbelief you almost miss, though his expression seems to remain the same unrelenting facade like the one before he got lightly  _sentimental._

How does he manage to maintain his poise is far beyond your knowledge; you aren't even a couple of minutes into a harmless conversation and you are ready to pull your hair out. No wonder why your mother always spoke so highly about him.

"I understand you doubt yourself. It's not every day that you get commended with such an important task, after all." He leans forward, propping his elbows on the table and entwining his long fingers together. "But if you keep telling yourself that you are are not enough, you are bound to live a life of misery and mediocrity," he lowers his voice on that last part, as the beautiful glint in his eye darkens to a shadow.

He pushes himself up and straightens to a taller figure, more than he already was, anyway, extending his right hand before you. "It has been a pleasure finally being able to meet you, Miss (L/n). I suppose there is no way of changing a mind that thinks so low of itself, so I must be on my way to find someone else that's confident enough of their capabilities to continue your mother's work."

 _Did he just..._  you think, not being able to finish the sentence, leaving it up to a wild guess of what you want you to say. Instead of speaking, realizing that you can't formulate a reasonable response to his pride-stabbing talk, you simply stare at him with widened eyes and a frown that almost spells the word confusion over your forehead. And staring at him is all you can do.

Erwin drops his hand to his side after waiting for a minute or so for a pretty much unresponsive you, it's the only way of cutting through the uncomfortable silence your lack of words spilled in between. "Farewell." He walks away after giving you a small nod, instantly disappearing behind your back and leaving behind the loud tapping of his boots against the wooden floor.

You then wonder, _What the fuck did just happen?_

He asked you nicely to do an impossible work at first, praising you and your supposed talent, even if he knows nearly to nothing about you, only to kick you off the throne of compliments he built for you and shred the remaining of your pride to pieces. He might as well just have told you to go fuck yourself and thrown a chair at you as a final touch. No, that would have hurt less than the crude words he poked your ego with. 

It was that cool demeanor and monotonous expression with which he delivered the hardest blows that pissed you off. How he managed not to snap at you for being so difficult is a matter of high praise, and, being honest, you feel that if he had let anger take over his speech, the truth he shoved over your face would have had less effect on you. 

To add insult to injury, a new emotion poured outside your brain and dripped to your stomach and chest, it curls your hand into a fist and sends it to the top of the table with a hard thump. It spreads all over your body, up to your frowning brows and into your boiling blood.

No one comes to your shop, sweetens your ear a little and then reviles you; only you have the right to insult yourself! Who did that Erwin, squat colonel of your ass think he is? Sure, you may have had been tearing your self-esteem to bits, but that didn't mean he was invited to your one-person party of self-deprecation. 

You nearly jump from the chair, stumbling on your way to the stairs.

Ushering down to the entrance, you catch him just in time as he's opening the door to leave, though before he can pull it any further, you slither your arm by his side and slam it shut.

Your cheeks are glowing red, face contorted in a deep scowl as your eyes burn holes through his wide back, almost commanding in silence for him to turn around and face you.

Surprisingly enough, he  _does_ turn around, but doing so rebuilds your supposedly intimidating stance into nothing but the image of a little mouse standing up to a lion. 

Your hand is still pressed against the door, "trapping" him between yourself and the closed doorway. You glare at him with fiery eyes and lock them with his. "Being a Sergeant or whatever you are, does not give you the right to speak about me like that," you hiss, inching closer to him in hopes of making yourself look more menacing.

Of course, it doesn't work.

Erwin's mouth pulls back into a tiny smirk to assert his point. "You alone made it about yourself, Miss (L/n). Earlier you wouldn't stop discrediting your faculties." He lowers his head to try and level his towering height to your small one. 

That's a fairly good point, you have to admit. You don't, of course, but your eyes widening and your lips parting to let out a quiet gasp are more than enough to convey that.

The anger tainting your cheeks melt into embarrassment, though the rosy tone remains on your face. That man sure knows his way with speech, ever since his arrival, it has been a turmoil of emotions inside of you, enough to make you believe you are going insane. That comes to show just how powerful words can be. You would have preferred a slap rather than a flash lecture of your sins. 

That doesn't mean you are going to gracefully accept he is right, no sir. Not by any chance. Instead, you resort to avert your eyes from his face, not being able to stand the weight of the truth.

"It's disappointing to see that Risa's daughter stigmatizes herself out of sadness. Pity is a dangerous weapon with two sharp ends, dangerous when pointed at oneself." He turns around once again and twists the knob of the door, opening it slowly to avoid hurting your slender arm. "Be careful." 

Just as he's about to walk out, you push the door shut again, making him look at you over his shoulder.

Your head is hanging low, eyes fixed on your feet and unable to meet his intimidating gaze. "Wait," you say quietly, though it comes out more like a command rather than a request. "I will help you. But if I can't figure it out, or if by some sort of... divine intervention I'm able to make it work, once I'm done, I'll leave. And not you nor any other of the scouts will come to me again."

You don't notice, but Erwin's face lights up briefly, allowing his lips to paint a small beam. "Very well. A carriage will arrive for you tomorrow morning at six." He opens the door and lets himself out, though before he climbs inside the carriage waiting for him outside, he turns around and takes your hand, shaking it softly. "We are eager to work with you, Miss (L/n)." He finally enters the small room of the ride.

Still standing inside the shop, you stare at the couple of horses and wooden cart making itself smaller with the distance. You watch the path it takes until it completely disappears, leaving you alone at last. 

Like a mannequin featuring a disheveled outfit,  you remain there for a moment, taking in what you just got yourself into.

 _This is for my mother,_  you think, but deep inside the dark corners of your mind, you know damn well it is not like that. You are doing it out of pettiness, to show Erwin he is completely wrong and to prove to yourself that you are worth something.

But you can still lie to yourself, reassuring it's all in name of your deceased mother. Anyone else will be none the wiser, and it would make it seem that your actions are as noble as the person next to you. Oh, dirty little you.

There's no time to delve deeper into your problems, though. You're tired and your body feels painfully heavy, so you decide to go back to sleep and avoid giving circles to the choice you just made. Overthinking is an activity no one can enjoy, you know that more than anyone. Still, ringing behind your mind, where the last embers of dying hope burn off slowly, a faint voice is comforting you, telling you it's going to be fine.

A new chapter in your life has just started. Perhaps a little too later in life, but it has arrived nonetheless.

_It's never too late to begin again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author would certainly be pleased to read your thoughts. So don't be shy and write away!  
> Please note that, although this is her first work here on Archive of Our Own, she is not new in the world of fanfiction, so don't hold back with words.  
> Criticism and tips about this site are as welcome as an apple pie in a breezy autumn afternoon, as long as you are not being an ass about it! Author has quite a sensible heart and short fuse (◕‿- ✿).  
> That being said, Aars hopes you have a great day/night/unspecific sun setting, as well as having enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> See you on the other side. :)


	2. Merry Go Round of Bullshit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back?:)

_Source: Pinterest_

_Artist: Sammlung_

* * *

  **CHAPTER TWO**

Merry Go Round of Bullshit

* * *

 

 **S** omething about Mr. Smith's presence lingers inside of you, especially his voice and stoic features. His words remain as a soothing whisper in your ears that lull your revolting thoughts into brief rest.

Yes, the moments of peace are short, never lasting longer than a couple of minutes, but you treasure them and use them as a tool to fall asleep. Sometimes it works; closing your eyes when you find silence in your mind, slowly drifting into the much, much-needed sleep your body and mind ache for.

Before you can allow any more torment get to you, tiredness weighs down your eyelids and soon you doze off. But oh, surprise! The sun peeks its golden head over the walls, filtering through the window and smacking its thin beams over your eyes. Not the nicest of ways to find out it is morning minutes after you finally managed to fall asleep.

You let them blind you for while as the recollection of yesterday's thoughts flood back into your head, too busy with your problems to move your head to the side. 

And hey, that wooden ceiling looks great as a ray of yellow heat.

You lie numb once more. It appears that your brain is still turning itself on, or maybe it has stopped working; you can't tell, all you know is that you don't want to move an inch and just be left right then and there to rot alone in your nest of sadness.

Unfortunately, faith has something else in store for your torn soul.

There's a knock on the door.

"Not again," you say, your voice coming out as painful croak from your sore throat, it even makes your skull rattle. Your hand slithers to your neck to rub away the exhaustion. Useless, but comforting. 

You push away your covers and hazily drag yourself downstairs to the front door. 

 _Who could it be?_  you think.

Reaching the door, you open it without the need of unlocking it first. Your half-shut eyes snap completely open in a wide stare as your lips part, though the gasp you almost let out gets swallowed by surprise.

Mr. Smith and another man with the same uniform as him, probably the chauffeur, are standing before you. Behind them, a carriage with two horses and an open door. Both have their arms behind their backs and are looking at you with guilt-inducing calmness.

"Good morning, Miss (L/n)," says Erwin, giving you a short nod.

 _Shit,_ you think, completely having forgotten about the situation at hand. You must have to be cut some slack, you are in no condition to keep tabs of everything given your mental state. Of course, they can't expect you to act like a soldier, much less to have woken up earlier than you did.

"Good morning." Your response comes out more like a faint whisper, still in a slight daze. For all you know it could be a dream! But the gut-eating shame you feel is proof enough for you to be sure it isn't, sadly. 

Erwin doesn't look away from your eyes. "I suppose you still are not ready." Ah, as observant as always. Thankfully, he hasn't noticed you are wearing the same rags as the day before.

Your gaze remains on his as well. "I'm afraid not," you say as a light blush creeps up to your cheeks, somewhat disappointed of the impression you just left on him. "I just need to get some stuff." And give yourself a quick shower and change clothes and leave a note telling any future customers to get lost.

His stare is still on you, applying gentle pressure on your lack of interest and responsibility, which somehow urges you to keep talking in hopes of lightening the situation, though silence finds its way into the one-sided conversation.

"And I'll change real quick." You give him a forced smile that looks more like a dumbfounded grimace. "I'll just... I'll just be quick." You turn around and rush back inside.

"We will be waiting for you," Erwin says from the front of the shop.

* * *

Time scurried past your hands faster than you could process. A couple of minutes ago you were still in pajamas just packing your tools and gathering your mother's letters; now, you find yourself wearing one of your nicest dresses in a carriage with Mr. Smith and your new friend, awkward silence, which isn't leaving any time soon. Not that you are about to do something to break it, anyway.

The modern-ish buildings scattered around the city slide across your eyes in a slow-motion, just like the people staring at the passing carriage you are riding; visitors in Industrial City are strange, all thanks to the tight security guarding the border. It is to be expected, though. As the home of the main (and probably the only) source of weaponry and military equipment production, a little too much theft-prevention here and there don't hurt anybody. Only thieves, that is. 

All that attention makes you feel like a celebrity of sorts. Eyes over you if they manage to see through the small window, under the protection of a high ranked soldier, and on your way to the headquarters of the infamous military branch. Nevertheless, it isn't a goodfeeling.

For all you know, everything is about to only get worse. Deep down you tell yourself that you are just being realist lest you call it pessimism.

You aren't trying to see the bright side of things either, everything seems foggy and dark, and your intentions are chained to a downcast perspective, which, inevitably, also poisons your actions. Negative outcomes to negative minds, or so they say.

Luckily for you, the backbone of the project and the entire branch is nothing short of relentless and seemingly masochistic men and women that don't know the meaning of the word 'surrender'. And as the header of the perpetually-hopeful, Mr. Smith himself, who is throwing at you a casual glance now and then, perhaps trying to decipher what could be buzzing around in your head.

"How are you feeling, Miss (L/n)?" Mr. Smith's head turns in your direction as his velvety voice pulls you back from your brief trip to your mind, making you look at him with a couple of stunned eyes.

 _How am I feeling?_ the question echoes in your thoughts but you are not sure of your answer. It has only been two days since your mother's death, two days of the most exhausting roller coaster of emotions you had ever experienced; obviously, you have no idea how to feel.

Your heart can only store so many feelings; sadness, resentment, curiosity, and fear to name a few, though pouring your thoughts to him is not something you plan to do any time soon.

"I'm feeling okay, I guess." Your view drops to your shoes, watching yourself shift their soles nervously, to which Mr. Smith answers with a calm chuckle.

"I've witnessed more suffering than you may think, Miss (L/n). With all due respect, your expression doesn't reflect you to be  _okay_ ," he answers a little too casually, enough to make you think he has completely forgotten about your mom.

But then again, you guess that he does have his fair share of misery and sadness. The Scout Regiment has the troublesome fame of losing more men in a single month than any other branch in an entire year. How many people he had to watch get eaten alive could only mean he had to go through tenfold those same overwhelming feelings as you; that fact alone shakes you a little bit, though it gives you a sensation of reassurance.

You let out a quiet grunt. "Was it  _that_  obvious? I guess I'm not okay..." Your eyes jump from your shoes and back to the morning landscape outside the window without a clue about what to say next. You don't want to talk about your mom, for sure, that subject is completely out of bounds and you intend to keep it that way.

Erwin gives you a small beam even if he knows you are not looking at him, though you catch his reflection on the crystal of the window. His smile is sincere and welcoming, not alike in any way as the one-dimensional gestures that a stranger would exchange. He understands the pain, and your brain can't compute how is he still able to smile.

It makes you wonder: how much loss is enough for him to bend down in agony? How much death until he finally craves it? There must surely be a way to lock away the sadness, it must and he knows how. Or so you are inclined to believe.

"Can I ask you something, Mr. Smith?" Your voice is frail. It makes you sound like a wounded bird begging for mercy. You try to look him in the eyes but your sight ends on the empty seat between the both of you.

"Of course, Miss (L/n), go ahead," he answers with enough self-assurance to make up for the lack of yours.

You are just going to ask him a simple question, why are you so nervous?

The fidgeting of your sweaty palms, the incessant tapping of your shoe, and the woebegone couple of eyes that aren't even looking at him serve as an outlet for your nerves, even if they make you look somewhat frantic.

A couple of seconds go by and you are finally able to gather the courage to speak. "How... how can you avoid feeling, well... sad and angry. I mean, feeling at all when you lose someone you love?" Not really how you planned to phrase the question but you guess it's decipherable enough for him to understand.

And you are right. His eyes widen by a quick millimeter and his lips part open just so a thin part of his front teeth show, but he regains his poise as fast as he initially reacted. "That's an interesting question." He shifts his gaze away from you. "I do feel sadness and anger, Miss (L/n)."

How silly of you to think he didn't, you superficial and judgmental potato sack! You would have smacked yourself on the forehead if the question alone wasn't embarrassing enough. You can always trust your involuntary reactions to humiliate you further, though; blushing beet red, for example. "I didn't mean to say you were heartless, or anything like that," you manage to croak.

"Of course," he says in a chuckle. "I feel just like you or anyone else with a heart. Though I can't let those emotions get to me as easily as it would to the rest. For one, I get busy enough not to leave any space in my mind for grief."

 _Busy myself,_ you take mental notes of the impromptu lesson. For that, you don't have to worry. Soon, you'll have enough on your plate to shut anything else away. Your mother, for instance; sounds crude but you just want to stop crying and feeling miserable, even if it means forgetting for a moment about her.

 _But (F/n), how can you forget about your deceased mother?_ One could ask, and it sends yourself guilt-tripping over it. The stinging feeling in your chest tells your heart it is a selfish idea, that it's not the way to pay your respects, and you believe it. It's wrong, but you believe it.

There's nothing selfish about wanting to feel happy.

Erwin continues, "If I stopped to drown in anguish for every friend I lost, I would not be capable of fulfilling the duty I was assigned. I'd be putting countless lives on the hands of a troubled mind. Not a wise choice, is it?" He ends his spiel with a gaze that stares in the distance and a far off smile. He almost seems like he isn't here.

"I... suppose you are right," you say, a little comfort washing over you. Apparently, you aren't the only one feeling the weight of the world on their shoulders, even if you know his role is far more important than yours.

Mr. Smith turns to you with a soft expression, understanding the reason as to why you asked that question. "I wouldn't recommend that lifestyle, Miss (L/n). It takes a heavy toll on you."

Turns out he not only has an admirable adroitness in his speech but also has mastered his intuition and reading between lines. Not that it would have taken an intellectual to figure out your evident display, but it still surprises you he got the reason for your interest on that subject. 

"Any lifestyle is better than-" you stop mid-sentence with a couple of wide eyes and agape lips, right before you say anything a little too risky... or dark, for instance. Your relationship with Mr. Smith is still recently-met on the scale, so the number of secrets and daring thoughts you allow yourself to speak are little to none. Besides, you doubt that he is eager to listen to your sorrows.

Before he can inquire any further, you clear your throat and shake your head. "Um... never mind, I was just... just talking out my ass." You drop your sight back to your shoes since, in fact, you are just talking out of your ass. Or rather, out of a mind brimful of grief.

After he raises a bushy eyebrow and gives you a nod, he decides to drop the subject with a single huff that sounds like a short chuckle.

The rest of the ride to the Scout Regiment's headquarters is a comfortable silence, each of you facing their window. The occasional road bump and little pebbles that make the cart vibrate now and then work for you as a makeshift massage. Outside chatter and hollering vendors fly through your ears, mixed with the birds chirping and the neigh of the horses make for a good lullaby.

Your soft seat starts feeling more comfortable with each passing second, and the still-rising morning sun suddenly seems less bright. Yawn after yawn, stretch after stretch, the lack of sleep of the night before prowls your body, beginning with your closing eyelids that flutter open every time they nearly seal shut. Then, it goes for your head, pushing it down as consciousness is less and less in your grip. Rinse and repeat and not soon after, you are finally out like a light.

Though it doesn't last for long, sleepyhead.

An indistinct voice dances in and out of the ears of your asleep self. It's deep and calm but you can't tell what's trying to say. Whatever it is, it can't be important, as it is too serene to mean anything of significance.

"Wait!" It's the only word you can make out of the fuzzy voice.

Then you hit the ground.  **Hard**.

The pain coursing through the right side of your body and the sudden loss of sleeping ground shake you awake. You let out an airy groan, feeling your head throb in stinging ache. Squirming in agony, you then come to the realization that you are lying on dirt.

You try to push yourself up from the ground, right arm shooting a bolt of a dozen needles as you do so, making you wince.

Before you can attempt to move again, someone takes your left arm and throws it over their shoulders, lifting you effortlessly off of the ground. It's Mr. Smith and it only seems obvious.

"Are you okay, Miss (L/n)?" Mild concern tinges his voice, even if after checking you up and down you seem completely fine.

The sound of multiple feet shuffling makes you grasp the fact that you and Mr. Smith aren't the only ones there, wherever you happen to be. Adding insult to injury, not only are you in pain but also embarrassed that you fell out of the carriage during your slumber.

With one eye squinted and a couple of red cheeks, you look up from the ground and see three, equally uniformed men standing before you. The one in the middle and the one on his right have a bashful look on their faces. The one on the left, however, is just a bit fazed.

 _The Scout's headquarters_ , you remember.

The man in the middle, with short, black hair, thin goatee, and a mustache, shoves the shoulder of the guy to his right with his own, pushing him slightly to the front, which only makes the latter more flustered than he already is.

"I-I'm sorry," the pushed guy says, scratching the back of his light brown undercut and completely avoiding eye contact with you. "In my defense, I didn't know you were asleep against the door, I was just trying to be courteous, anyway." With that statement, any trace of embarrassment he had plastered on his face disappears, replaced with annoyed, mildly wrinkled features and crossed arms.

 _What's this guy going on about?_ you ask yourself in the privacy of your mind, perfectly conveying the question with the confused grimace you wear. Your red cheeks melt away once everyone stops walking on eggshells about your fall, and softly move your arm off of Mr. Smith's shoulders, not before thanking him for picking you up.

You start dusting off your clothes and shift around your arms and legs to catch any hole or bruise that may have had shown up after your incident, but one of the men cuts short your self-inspection.

The goatee man turns you, scanning you up and down with his couple of dark eyes as if he were reviewing a new tool he just bought. If anything about you is out of place, he makes you feel like it is ten times worse than it could be.

The quick and disapproving raised eyebrow he throws at you before looking at Mr. Smith feels like a hard blow to the gut.

"Not to sound too harsh but she doesn't seem like an engineer from Industrial City. Are you _sure_ she works at the Factory?" His gaze is cold and calculating, it makes you wonder why Mr. Smith doesn't react with panic to it.

"That's because she doesn't work there," Mr. Smith says, almost too casual for an answer to the goatee man's question. His reply earns a collective frown of confusion from the two of the three men before you, to which you can't do anything but look away.

You knew this was a bad idea, in fact, you even warned him. You especially told him a few reasons why his plan or scheme or whatever the hell he would care to call it is absolute ridiculousness compared to anything else he could have thought of. If only you have had bet a few bucks on that thought, but it's too late now; you have to see eye to eye with regret.

So far everything indicates that shit is only about to get even shittier, and all that's left for you to do is to bear with any remarks that the men in front of you should eventually say. You dare not to speak a word, though, who knows how badly the situation could worsen if you decide to chime in.

The goatee man's eyes widen more than they were when Mr. Smith revealed your status to them. "What?" he gasps the question. "Erwin, commander Shadis' instructions were to bring someone from the factory, not just..." he stops mid-sentence to eye you again, then continues, "...a girl in a pretty dress. Please don't tell me this is like the Lovof ploy."

An alternate thought to the burning shame you feel after his comment would have been something along the lines of 'yeah, stick it to the man' or 'told ya, Mr. Smith!', but not a single word of jester-like objection defies the mortifying heat of your cheeks. You aren't one to speak up against someone unless, of course, you are a bit too angry or disheveled, so instead, you let Mr. Smith attempt to ease the situation with his elocution mojo.

He gives him his signature, placid smirk, and in return, he receives hushed comments from the guy with the undercut and more yelling from the goatee man. It only seems that he has riled them up instead of cutting the edge off of the tense atmosphere. "She is Risa's daughter."

Complete silence.

"Just like Risa herself, Miss (L/n) volunteered as a recruit," Mr. Smith explains to the men, though his eyes are focused on the goatee man. "I believe she will be a great asset, but let's discuss the rest inside. Shall we, Nile?"

Your heart rises to your throat and your eyes instantly stare with a panicked glint at Mr. Smith.  _Volunteered as a recruit?_ No. Hell no. Hell to the no and back and forth. You never said anything about being a scout!

Your stomach revolts and drops, hoping for Mr. Smith to say 'just kidding!', but he just looks at the goatee man. "Mr. Smith, wha — "

"You're right, let's get going. Commander Shadis is waiting for us at the meeting room." He turns to the side and walks down a gravelly road, followed by the undercut guy and the silent man who didn't say a word throughout the entire interaction. "Oluo, guide the girl to the female barracks."

The guy with the undercut, most likely the one Nile is referring to as Oluo, abruptly stops his stride and drops his head. "I'm one of the best cadets around and I have to do these kinds of things," he whispers, but it's still loud enough for everyone to hear.

Mr. Smith turns his gaze at you. "Miss (L/n), I need to discuss some things in private with our commander. Oluo will take you to the place where you'll stay meanwhile you work on the project," he says quietly, almost as if it's a secret.

Saying that you are confused is an overwhelming understatement, let alone panicked and angry. He lied to you and now you are going to end up chewed and spat out by a monster; you aren't going to let him walk away that easily. "No, what the hell was that of being a recruit?" you say in a loud whisper.

"No need to worry. Everything will be clarified later." He looks at you with a warm gaze. "See you soon, Miss (L/n)." He gives you a quick nod and turns around to walk in the same direction Nile did. The crunchy sound of his boots pressing against the gravel road and his wide back making itself smaller with distance are the last things you see and hear of him after you try to call him back.

Your world begins to fall into shambles for the second time.

But it seems like someone doesn't have time for internalized sentimentalism. It isn't until the third time Oluo says your name when you realize he is trying to get your attention.

"Hey! Don't you hear me? You can daydream about Captain Erwin later," he sneers, crossing his arms in the process. "Follow me." He turns around, though just about he's going to start walking, he looks at you over his shoulder and says, "Or would the princess like me to carry her to her bed?" He moves his hands in a 'gracious' way.

You don't understand what his deal is, nor what did you do or say for him to start acting this way. You are already pissed off and that asshole doesn't help to come to terms with the fabrication you so happily ate.

To hell with getting to know him, you already despise him all thanks to the biased anger boiling in your stomach. You are not going to take any shit from him. With an eyebrow raised and a demeaning expression staining your features, you begin walking in the same direction he turned around before being an irritating prick to you. "I'd be surprised if those arms could carry any more than four pounds."

Your remark sneaks behind his back and shakes him. He wasn't expecting you to talk back at him or to talk at all. His wide, dark eyes follow your moves, and quickly after, he hastens to you. "Who do you think you are, talking to me like that, huh?" He walks by your side, eyeing you closely, almost as if his stare could pull out of your face the answer he wants to hear.

Much to your discontent, he is one of those stubbornly presumptuous guys, one of the worst combinations in the humongous expanses of the three holy Walls. Although back-stabbing, dumbass liars most definitely take the cake.

Unfortunately for him, your sweet looks defy any harsh talk you have brewing up to serve him hot, though the tingling feeling in your chest telling you to keep quiet and seclude yourself from the world is too persuasive.

Instead of speaking, you merely keep your face pointing to the path ahead and quickly glare at him with the corner of your eye. Your view returns to the sunny panorama in front of you in hopes of him shutting up for once, which, of course, he doesn't.

"Do you even know where you are going?" Something weird to ask, given he is walking in the same direction as you. This is the ultimate proof he'll say anything to make you feel  _subordinate_.

The straws keeping your mouth shut are few and being less with each word he speaks. Any kind of encouragement to keep quiet you tell yourself is as void of any meaning as an insult to a wall. "No. Do you?" you hiss, and you suppose that will suffice.

Oluo's frown deepens and he throws his hands in the air in an irritated fashion. "Of course I do! I know the headquarters like the palm of my hand, so you better stay close if you don't want to get lost."

With him as company, you'd rather be alone and clueless. At least he didn't sound too pretentious this time, he is right, after all, but admitting that would only prolong a conversation you do not want continue having.

You remain silent and so does him, though his attention is more set on trying to start talking again instead of watching where are you heading. You, on the other hand, notice how down the path a couple of rows of small cabins rise at the distance. Near them a wide, empty area that has some training machines and dummies littered around.

It's logical to assume that it is the place where the scouts train, and maybe the small wooden huts are where they sleep; where  _you_ are going to sleep as a  _recruit_. Damn you, Mr. Smith.

As you near them, they seem pretty okay, which is to say, you have seen worse. It should all be fine as long as you have sweet dear privacy. 

Oh boy, you are going to be disappointed, then.

Both of you finally arrive at the cabins, each with their own little set of steps and a thin terrace with a fence just before the entrance. He guides you down to the fourth row and stops by the thirteenth hut. "This is where you'll sleep. There should be a free bed in there," he says before opening the door and walking in.

You follow him, and the sight urges you to pluck your eyes out.  _Bunker beds,_  you nearly gasp. What the double fuck? No one said anything about sharing room with strangers. If they thought you agreed to sleep next to some dude, then they are absolutely, positively wrong. But then again, it's not as if you had been lied to, or got essential information omitted from you before, anyway. Very little will faze you from now on.

"Oh, did the princess want a room of her own?" He clasps his hands together, then places them on his cheek, fluttering his eyelids and pouting his lips.

Yes. Yes, you want a room of your own. Also to punch him in the face. Is that too much to ask? Maybe the look on your face is enough to answer his question.

"Well, bad news, sweetheart. These are the cadet barracks, not a deluxe hotel in Mitras. You'll be lucky if you even get a blanket," he derides, propping his hands on his hips. "I can't believe they even let yourself enlist."

You immediately hear a vinyl disc scratch in your head.  _Enlist?_  That has to be some joke of bad taste, bad enough to make you chuckle. Oh, wait, you have already heard it before. "Good one." You glare at him with the sharpest look you can manage to pull off.

He scoffs and turns to you with his arms crossed. "Enjoy your last day of relaxation. You'll wish to be dead by tomorrow after training," he says, heading out of the room.

Enough. You have had enough.

"Look, this must be a misunderstanding. I didn't come here to join your death parade." Cruel but true, nonetheless. "I'm here to-" Just before you can finish your sentence, the door opens.

It's Mr. Smith who walks in, the last and first person you want to see. "Miss (L/n), may you follow me outside?" he asks, apparently forgetting he had tricked you into joining the walking corpses. He holds open the door for you to exit, arriving just in time for him to listen to you since certain cocky pal is too high up his horse to do it.

Without a second thought, you agree, nodding once and forcing out an 'of course' through gritted teeth. Your hands are tightly curled in fists as a painful outlet of bottled anger and nervousness. You walk outside the cabin and down the short steps, waiting for him in front of the entrance.

He approaches you and extends his arm to the left, where at the distance,  a stone building, almost like a small mansion, is standing. "This way." He begins walking in direction of the building with you treading behind.

"What? No," you heave, refusing to give another step. "Mr. Smith, if that's even your name. I don't know what's happening. I agreed to do  **one**  thing and one thing  **only** , and then you come up with the newsflash about me being enlisted," you speak a little too fast and move your hands frantically. "I deserve a damn explanation. I'm confused and I-I don't know what is going to happen next and... and..." Your nervous babbling is cut short by your lack of words and instead replaced with Mr. Smith's serene voice.

"We're going to tell you everything you need to know once we get to the meeting room, Miss (L/n)."

Not the answer you want to hear. "It better be a great meeting," you mutter, loud enough for him to hear.

Before you even realize, you arrive at the front of the building. A wide set of white stairs welcome your view that instantly travels from the first step to the last, where a couple of big wooden doors guard the insides of the building.

Mr. Smith climbs the stairs first, expecting you to follow him.

You hasten up to match his stride. As you get closer to the doors, they give the illusion of getting bigger and bigger, up to the point where you have to look up to see their entire size.

With a light push, he opens one of the doors, letting you in first. "After you," he says.

You enter the building, greeted by soldiers scurrying past and forth, some holding papers, others without anything in their hands. The grand, dark bluish-green walls decorated with golden frames and wooden furniture give it a sophisticated look, and, somehow, it matches with the uniforms they wear.

Following Mr. Erwin for a while now, you notice that the whole first floor is the same as the entrance, though, after the flight of stairs you take to the second floor, the color scheme changes to wine-red and gold.

Passing a couple of closed rooms, you arrive in front of wooden twin doors, the first you see after the enormous ones at the entrance.

Erwin knocks a couple of times and one door opens almost instantly. Once more, he holds it open for you.

Unlike the destination behind all the doors he has held open for you, this one poisons you with an uneasy feeling in your chest. Are you going to be alone with him? Or are there a few more spectators in wait for you to embarrass yourself again? Whatever the outcome, the anger in your stomach subdues and allows for your nerves to resurface.

Swallowing hard, you hesitantly walk in.

Three new pairs of eyes on three new faces. One is mildly wrinkled with a thin beard and a sour expression. The second adorned with glasses over her eyes and a spine-chilling smile painted across her features.

The last one...

...cold, silvery stare; sharp enough to cut through the remaining of your quickly decaying confidence. A chasmic frown staining his honed profile darkens the deadly glint in his pupils. Those grey eyes alone are enough to suffocate you and make your hands tremble.

Your heart rises to your throat again, just as razor-edged butterflies flutter in your chest, and once more, you space out to feed the voice telling you on loop that they are all judging you.

Frozen on the spot, the introduction Erwin is kind enough to say translates to nothing but a muffled mess of words.

Some exchange is made, though your revolting thoughts make it impossible for you to listen to what they are talking about. That is until you hear your name being said twice. You blink a couple of times and clear your throat. Then, as per usual, you drop your sight to your shoes.

You can still feel their eyes burning holes through your skin, adding themselves to the ever-increasing weight of shame over your shoulders. One more unsuccessful first impression checked into the list. Way to fucking go.

"Is she mute or what?" a husky voice asks, soaked with venomous condescension and spat in your direction. It is a voice you have never heard before, you are completely sure; it would have been unforgettable if it were otherwise. Similar in depth as Erwin's, though it lacks its warmth and understanding. Void of everything but disdain.

Chilling, to say the least, and it makes you unsure if answering the question is what the voice wants.

Given that no one says a word after, you suppose it  _does_  want a reply. "I am not," you meekly counter, an itty-bitty tiny mouse with a shaking voice.

"Did someone snap your neck in half?" It's the same voice.

You immediately lift your head. "My neck is perfectly fine, sir." Your eyes jump from head to head until they finally land on who you assume is the owner of the voice: the same man with the cold stare. It has to be him, the other man just looks angry, and the woman is... ecstatic?

"Then why the hell are you looking at the ground, are we not entertaining enough for you?" He doesn't know you, it is probably the first time he has ever heard your name, yet he makes you feel as if you have done upon him the most heinous of crimes.

Thankfully, for your own sake, whatever that woman was experiencing, she snaps out of as if someone just gave her an electric shock. She lets out a bellowing cackle, throwing her arms in the air and giving an impressively high jump.

"I can't believe it!" She darts in your direction and rams into you as she wraps her arms around your body, throwing you to the ground with her. "You are like a mini-Risa. Sooo cuuute!"

A high-pitched wail escapes your throat before a hard thud hits your back.

What the hell did just happen? You have no idea. All you know is that you are lying on the carpeted floor under a madwoman. You also hear Erwin chuckling, which only makes the situation more embarrassing.

"Keep your damn hands to yourself, you four-eyed tick. It's bad enough the girl can't speak without choking with her fucking tongue," the gloomy asshole says, throwing knives at you and the woman with his eyes. A few seconds more of his glare and you could swear you would have been set ablaze by the sheer intensity of it.

Erwin crouches next to you and helps you stand up,  _with_ the woman still attached to you. "Hange, please give Miss (F/n) some space. We need her whole."

All you are able to do is stare. Stare with bashful eyes and red cheeks. All day you have been followed by the unholy ghost of falls, fails, and betrayals, and you intend to exorcise it back to hell. You are tired of the sickening feeling in your stomach, and if you want to have a chance of survival around a horde of moody and insane soldiers, you might as well start being a little more assertive.

"Can we talk about the project?" So much for assertiveness, it sounds like a kind suggestion.

Very, very fierce. Scary dickhead, better watch out; this girl is out to bust your ass and shove back the shit-talk so far down your throat you'll taste your personality for  _weeks_. Or so you would have thought if you weren't terrified of him.

The woman, Hange, remains latched onto you for a few seconds before jumping back. "You even have her eyes! I hope you have her brains too," she laughs.

You are seriously concerned about the mental health of the scouts now.

"Alright, alright. Hange, settle down now," the man with the thin beard says as he stands up from his seat. "Miss (F/n), you already know why we brought you here, but there are some things we need to go over before you can begin." He looks at Erwin and gives him a nod, signaling him to speak.

He returns the gesture, then locks his eyes with yours. "Only a few scouts know about the project, and we intend to keep it that way. We cannot risk the possible creation of a revolutionary gear to be leaked, only for it to end up in the wrong hands.

To avoid raising any suspicions inside the Scout Regiment, we have decided the best course of action would be a simple guise," he explains. "You will look, dress and act like any other recruit, attending to the daily, mandatory training sessions and spending most of your time with the newly admitted cadets. Though since you will require unlimited access to the repair room and your mother's office, which are all in this building and rarely frequented by new soldiers, you'll take the role of Corporal Levi's assistant." He signals with his open hand at the silver-eyed man.

Cold runs through your veins. Your eyes widen and you swallow hard. You are going to be the make-believe assistant of the least likable guy you have met so far, and that's a lot considering you have been insulted by not one, but two other scouts earlier. Multiple times. That Corporal man took it to another level, though; he was the first to make you feel vulnerable and small.

And yet, they are handing you to him as if they didn't hear his comments earlier.

They have thrown you straight into the lion's den.

And the lion is  _starving_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author is not a fan of excuses, so instead, she just wants to say "I'm finally back, bitches".  
> For all the curious peeps, Aars had to do some soul-searching to find how she wanted the story to flow and in which direction should it go, resulting in changing the order of chapters she initially thought was ideal, extensive re-writing, research, and destruction and creation of the plot. Plus, mishaps in her life. 
> 
> This chapter is a little bit more lengthy than the previous, so Aars hopes that's enough to compensate for all the time she hasn't been around. She also wishes you had enjoyed it, though it's not as if you had any other choice. 
> 
> See you in the next chapter! Or else:)


	3. Cogent Attestation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Nice to see your eyes again:)  
> Before we begin, let's first put a spotlight on the user and magnificent reader, No_Regrets. Thank you for the most beautiful comments and endless support (even there are only three chapters); it means the whole ENTIRE world to me. 
> 
> Without further ado, let's get the show going!

_Credits: Artist unknown_

_Source: Pinterest_

_Original Source: Unknown_

 

* * *

  **CHAPTER THREE**

Cogent Attestation

* * *

 

**S** aying you are confused is an euphemism for the gravity of your predicament.

You are blank. Nothing makes sense and there is too much being fed to you all at once. You would ask at least a few of the multiple thousand questions buzzing through your mind if only you were able to formulate an understandable word first. 

Now, you are absolutely, positively 100% sure that nothing worse can happen, but like in the past two days, life has had a magnificent way of surprising you. 

"We know you possess no knowledge about the Titans, nor have you had formal recruit training. This is why we'll provide you with an individual flash course to accustom you faster to the lifestyle of a soldier, as well as to avoid raising any suspicion between cadets and the rest of the Scout Regiment personnel," Erwin explains, making it sound as if it is any other task you can carry without a bother. 

Private classes to make yourself look less pathetic before an army of recently baked recruits don't sound half as bad, though. You are convinced it isn't going to work, but at least they are decent enough not to leave you to your own devices and figure everything out without guidance. It gives you some relief to know that if you're going to technically become a soldier, they are going to give you a hand.

"These brief classes will be taught by Squad Leader Hange." Erwin motions to the woman with glasses jumping in her place, evidently excited to have you around; to which you answer with a forced smile. 

In clairvoyant hindsight, you suppose she is going to be the less up-tight superior you are ever going to encounter there, and, quite frankly, she just looks like an overly-hyped puppy that wants to play. Forgetting the fact she threw you both to the ground and made you feel like an absolute disgrace, you are definitely going to stick by her side most of the time. 

"And Corporal Levi." He turns to the blood-chilling man and gives him a casual glance. "He will be in charge of teaching you field combat, self-defense, and maneuver gear use and techniques, while Squad Leader Hange is going to instruct you on all known information about the Titans." 

A whispered  _what_ escapes your lips as a tingling feeling of dread builds up inside your chest. Your eyes slide across the room, not searching for something to land on, just uselessly trying to sort your thoughts. 

Erwin seems to favor that Corporal Levi man, enough for him to completely disregard his attitude against you earlier, as well as whatever insult will eventually come for you in the future. And even more so that he practically left you under his full supervision and tutelage. 

The look of shock in your face is evident for everyone in the room, especially for Erwin, quickly accustomed now to your expressions. Who can blame you, though? They can't seriously believe an average civilian will be able to accomplish an already difficult task, while also juggling the privacy concerns of the project in one hand andassuming a make-pretend role for which one has to receive months, if not years of training in the other. It is absolutely ridiculous, and yet, you stand before them in hopes of it all being a tasteless joke.  

Erwin remains silent, looking at you, probably expecting an answer. Though after seconds and seconds of a speechless you, he heaves a sigh. "Miss (L/n), we are fully aware of the amount of pressure we are putting you under with this. We're asking the impossible from you, that's true; so if you believe you won't be able to withstand it, we understand." 

A condescending 'tch' quickly follows Erwin's comment, but it doesn't come from him.

With a quick look to the right, you see Corporal Levi wearing a bilious stare directed at you.

It was  _him. He_  made that sound. And there is no need to ask yourself why; you already know, and you are preparing what's left of your dignity for his remarks. 

Not the lack of them.

Surprisingly, this time he doesn't say a word, his eyes are glued to yours, but even in that unexpected silence, his stare is enough to expose a light over your insecurities. And as much as you would love to show him otherwise, nervousness dominates your body, sealing your lips shut. 

You can bear his stare, in spite of the two holes you feel are being burnt on your skin. But since good things never last, it seems that your absence of words fuel his.

"It's evident that you are not made for this, which only begs the question: why did you even agree to do it in the first place?" Corporal Levi says, arms folded and still dissecting you with his sharp glare. "If you're not even able to  _pretend_  to be a soldier, then get your sorry excuse of self back to wherever the hell you came from."

You feel as if he spat that sentence like venom, nearly flinching at the tone of his cold voice. The brimming embarrassment comes to a boil, blooming in your chest and stomach as butterflies, and on your cheeks as red warmth. 

Your eyes, too busy avoiding his, are glued to your shoes as your head hangs low; in the perfect position for him to further his show.  

And that's exactly what he does.

Silvery eyes on you, he continues, very much at ease with his string of disdain-soaked replies. "Don't waste any more of our time if you are just going to stand there cleaning your shoes with your eyes and hoping that Erwin will say something for you." 

He is moping the floor with your self-esteem, and all you can do is look at your feet and yearn that the result of his humiliation isn't tears. Anything but tears. You can't afford to be more vulnerable, it would be like adding gasoline to a wildfire. Though if the situation continues like that, then you are not sure how much longer will you be able to keep your poise. 

There is no need to stand all of his bullshit, though. You have it bad enough as it is for some nobody to bash you and insult you. As you told Erwin before, you are here to do one thing and one thing only, not to be brought down and reminded of your worth, and then asked to do the impossible.

You are putting an end to it.

You turn around and usher to the door, carefully hiding the tears building in your eyes as you reach the entrance.

"We'll find someone else to carry her legacy for you." 

Heartless blow.

Your watery eyes widen and your head snaps up. With a sharp turn, your glare instantly lands on him. It isn't a fierce look by any means, but it is angry. Hurt. The kind of expression that wrinkles your nose and pulls back your lips in an outraged snarl. 

And Erwin notices instantly. Most late, but his words finally become too much for him, making him look at the snarky asshat with stony eyes. "Levi, that's enough." 

But you don't need him to defend you.

"I may not be my mother," you hiss through gritted teeth and slightly pull your shoulders back, giving slow steps toward the loud-mouth asshole.

"I may not be as good as she was."

Coming after you is one thing.

"And I'm sure as all hell not the best engineer out there."

Though speaking about her is not something you'd give a free pass for; much less to him.

You inch closer to him. "But I'll be  _damned_ if I let anyone else get their hands on her project." You finally reach him, close enough so your shoes touch the tip of his boots.

You don't break eye contact with him, and he plans to stare at you for as long as needed to claw off the mighty appearance you have suddenly built for yourself.

Silence and tension join you. You feel their eyes on you, but for the first time in a long time, you aren't intimidated by them. In fact, you use them to stick it to the dickhead.

Honestly, you think you have won. 

Keyword  _think._

"Then stop bitching about it and prove it." Corporal Levi leans closer to your face, making you blink quickly and step back, immediately shattering the confidence you believed you had.

It isn't all gone, though. 

With a deep breath, you look at him straight in the eye, gaining a little reassurance. "I will," you say, once more followed by stillness from everyone, broken out of the blue by a high pitched squeal, making you turn your head to the source of the sound.

It's the woman; her hands are up in the air as she cackles. "Yes! I knew you had it in you, (F/n). Show that short-stack who's boss!" She runs up to you and wraps her arms around you, then picks you up and spins you around a couple of times. 

You squeak quietly, not sure how to react. Even if your body is telling you that you should be afraid of that woman and steer clear of her —or anyone in the room, for that matter— you aren't just about to kick her in the shins and run away. Although after standing up to Corporal Levi everything seems possible. 

Not breathing, though. She's holding you a little too tight. 

"Can you... let go?" you say in a groan as you tap her back quickly.

She finally puts you down. "Oh! We are going to get along just fine," She gives you a thumbs up and a wide smile. 

Erwin steps closer to you and puts a hand over your shoulder. "Miss (L/n), we are glad that, despite Corporal Levi's belligerent talk," he pauses to shoot a subtle glance at him, then continues, "you've decided to work with us." He shows a reassuring smile and a firm nod, signaling his gratitude.

"Just like the recruits, you'll have the rest of the day to settle in the barracks, explore for a while, meet your roommates, and perhaps make acquaintances with some of the cadets. We advise you to maintain your circle of friends as small as possible, though." 

The man with the thin beard stands up from his seat and looks at you. "Needless to be said, you cannot say a word about the project. And if anyone questions your presence, just tell them you were transferred from the northern Training Corps Division," he explains. 

_It can't be that hard,_ you think, being washed over by a thick wave of confidence. You just have to pull up your best acting skills and anyone would be none the wiser. Maybe being a good liar could help you out to make yourself more believable, but if you are right, then little to no interaction with the cadets has to be made. You are going to spend most of your time training, and "assisting" Corporal Levi, leaving you with small room to socialize. 

"As I mentioned before," Erwin begins. "Your schedule will be the same as that of any cadet, for now. We'll make some changes too in order put time in our favor, as well as to avoid exposing your current set of skills to the cadets." 

You nod. You aren't exactly agreeing, but rather showing him and Corporal Levi that you are up to the challenge. So if completing your mother's device means having to spend time with that asshole, then come what may.

* * *

After a briefing of tomorrow, officially your first day, you are dismissed by the thin bearded man, who you soon learn is Commander Shadis. The meeting took longer than you expected; when you arrived, the sun was sitting above you on its glorious blue expanses. Now it is hiding its head behind the Walls. 

Erwin guides you back to the barracks, not before showing you the way to the repair room and your mother's office.

You are only able to see the latter's closed door; you aren't sure if you can handle seeing so much of her in a room without bursting into a crying fit. It is surely full of her belongings and that strange, disorderly way of hers to accommodate her stuff. Papers everywhere, tools lying around, drawings and blueprints glued or nailed to the wall; the works. Only imagining it brings a suffocating tightness to your chest and the feeling of incoming tears to your eyes. 

Almost arriving at the cabins, Erwin explains to you some signals, symbols, and gestures that you are going to use or see during your training, such as the salute and answers to commands among other things. You are going to be repeating them for the rest of the day if you want to remember them correctly, even if he assures you that everything will turn out just fine. You haven't been having much luck with anything lately, so it makes no harm rehearsing them. 

Once you reach your room, you and Erwin bid your goodbyes and he parts away. 

Before entering, you look at him walk away, part of you hoping he'd stay with you to help in whatever soldier-related stuff you'll happen to stumble with, which is everything and everyone around. 

_No,_ you quickly deter the thought and shake your head. If you want to be a decent make-pretend soldier, then you can't rely on him every time you have second thoughts. It's time to put your big-girl panties on, beginning with your sleeping quarters. 

You turn around and open the door, revealing once more the wooden room, this time occupied by three girls. Your monotone expression shifts into a surprised one in an instant as the three pairs of eyes land on you at the same time.

Is it too late to call Erwin back? Yes, it is, but it's also getting late to say or do something before things turn awkward.

"Hey! We were actually talking about who was missing in the room," says one of the girls, a redhead with brown eyes. 

Nodding slowly, a nervous smile creeps up to your lips. "Yeah, uh..." You scratch your head, looking at the floor and trying to come up with a good excuse. "It... it took me a while to find out which was my room." A chuckle manages to escape your throat. 

The same girl giggles and walks up to you. "Oh, don't worry. We were just as lost before. Although I suppose you did take your time."

She extends one hand for you to shake. "I'm Petra. That's Isla." She points at the black-haired girl with a ponytail that is sitting on the lower mattress of the bunker bed to the left. "And she's Nico." Her hand flicks to the right, where a girl with short, grey hair is standing. "What's your name?"

You shake her hand without much thought. "I'm (F/n)," you say, smiling at them. It isn't so bad, after all. They seem like pretty nice people, enough that sharing a room with them doesn't seem as terrible as you initially thought.

Who knows? Maybe you all can be good friends one day. 

Petra smiles back. "Nice to meet you, (F/n). You weren't with us back in the Training Corps, right?" Of course, she has to go there. It seems like no one is going to cut you some slack anytime soon. 

"Oh... no, I didn't. I'm actually transferred from—"

Blank.

You completely forget what Commander Shadis told you. Your first day as a "soldier" hasn't even started yet and you are already messing it up. 

_Think, (F/n), think!_ you tell yourself in silence, and just like a moth drawn to light, the answer comes to your mind. "—from the northern division!" You chuckle. 

That nervous laugh you follow your sentences with whenever you are nervous is going to get you in trouble sooner or later. You need to get a better grip on your nerves, or people will soon be questioning your seemingly perpetual anxious state. 

Petra nods with the same smile still painting her lips. "No wonder why I didn't recognize you." She walks back to her friends. "Anyway, we didn't want to pick beds until everyone arrived, but since we thought no one else was coming we went ahead and already settled in. So if you don't like your spot just tell us." 

Before you can answer, Nico, the grey-haired girl, speaks up. "Can I ask you something, (F/n)?" She looks directly at you, her piercing blue eyes making her question seem intrusive. 

You freeze in the spot and your mouth is slightly agape. You don't like the sound of that, not the least bit. Maybe you are overreacting, but your mind is blaring alert sirens throughout your body, increasing your heart rate, making your palms sweaty, and flooding your thoughts with all sorts of worst-case scenarios.

You are drowning in your self-made sea of pessimism.

"Aren't you already asking me something?" You give her an awkward smile, flicking your gaze around as well. 

_What the hell was that?_ you ask yourself, and you can tell by Nico's slowly growing smile that she is wondering the same thing. You need some serious bullshitting lessons if you want to make it through however long you are going to be there. An entire branch is counting on you, and you can't fail them because you got "a little too nervous".

Much to your relief, she burst out laughing. "No, seriously, (F/n). Why on the three Walls are you wearing a dress?" 

A quiet  _oh_ slides off of your mouth. "Well... uh, my transfer got delayed, so I was staying at home until they came for me," you begin explaining, and it is surprisingly believable. "You know how they are, they barely gave me any chance to change clothes." You articulate your hands and nod your head casually for a more realistic effect. "Hell, they didn't even give me the uniform." 

Thank the Walls they find you humorous enough. There's nothing like a good laugh to hide a bad lie. Though considering you know shit about how the military works, you seem to be nailing the soldier facade perfectly. 

"Oh, they don't give you your uniform. It's just like back in training; there are uniforms in the drawers, and if something doesn't fit then you can change it the next day," Petra says, stifling her little giggle and happily eating the whole act like a slice of birthday cake. 

But you have had enough of tall tales. "Oh, really? Well, I guess mine will stay there for a little longer." You look around the room and notice the small suitcase you packed your clothes in sitting near the door. "I'm pooped and I haven't slept well lately. So, if you excuse me." With a quick nod, you hastily make your way to your suitcase, then look around to find a bathroom to change. 

Honestly, you aren't even surprised there isn't any. 

With a sigh, clenched jaw and tightly shut eyes, you realize you are going to have to undress before strangers. You open your suitcase and pull out a nightgown. "Do you mind if I change real quick?" Your eyes are glued to the wall before you, then you hear the voices of the girls agreeing.

And so, your next humiliating ritual begins. Not that you are ashamed of your body, you just happen not to fancy the idea of standing half-naked in front of three girls you just met.  

You try with every inch of your being not making about it a big deal but as always, your red cheeks and now trembling hands betray you. Fast movements will only worsen the situation; instead, you have to stick with convincing your mind that you are in the comfortable solitude of your room, taking off your clothes as casually as your rattling arms allow you. 

Thanking the Walls for one-pieced sleepwear, as soon as the last sleeve slides off of your arm, you scramble to fit inside the nightgown without showing as much skin as possible. Your bra is definitely staying as a preventative measure against the "cold" for your ladies. Plus, the fabric of the gown is  _white._

Still holding your embarrassment near and dear your heart, you turn to the side, and to your bewilderment, none of the girls are paying attention to you. They are too busy chatting between them to mind the personal humiliation you thought you had gone through. 

Each girl is sitting on their chosen bed; Nico on the top mattress and Isla on the one below of the bunker bed to the left, while Petra is cross-legged on the lower spot of the bunker bed to right, leaving you the bed above. You can't care less about where you are going to sleep, as long as you have a blanket, a pillow and a good night's rest.

You climb the short wooden ladder to get to your place and wish them goodnight, receiving three variations of "sleep well" in response. The light of the lantern on the wide dresser in the middle of the bunker beds is dim enough to allow you placid hours of shut-eye, although you prefer a dark room. The exchange of soft voices lull you gently; quite useless, as you are very much awake. 

Your old habit of dwelling resurfaces, now that it is quiet enough and your mind is unoccupied with anything else to make room for regrets and the rewinding of today's events. To your dismay, your brain has enough wood to feed the ever-growing fire inside of you. First comes flooding in the vivid memories of the two falls you had. Then arrive all the times you looked down in embarrassment. Even if it all is in the past, your cheeks and tingling chest can't help but react at the remembrance. 

And finally, as the cherry on top of the cake, the little scene you made in the meeting room appears in your mind to remind you that sometimes it is best to keep your mouth shut. Or is it? Part of you argues against it; that man has no business talking to you like that, much less speaking about your mother. 

_He totally deserved it,_ your heart counters.  _Although speaking up to your superiors is a bad idea,_ you think. 

But the woman —what's her name?— ah, yes, Squad Leader Hange, looked pretty content with you. Could she also be at odds with him? Time can only tell. Though for now, you've got one more ally to have your back. 

You are more worried about the fact that the next day you are going to spend some time with him. Simultaneously, regret hits you like a rock to the chest. You somehow manage to piss off the man whose job will essentially be supervising and mentoring you. Nothing will convince you now that the way you snapped at him is justified. All you can do is wait until your next encounter and apologize. 

With regret also comes guilt; not only for arguing with Corporal Levi but also for the lies you told and all the others that will come. It makes you feel dirty how easily they bought them.

Unused to the art of deceit, you, of course, think of it as a shameful tactic for those whose truths are as terrible as their lies. It just doesn't go with you to speak that much falsehood, it truly doesn't. The aftertaste of a lie is bitter and you do not like it one bit; it leaves your hands feeling murky, and your heart to skip a beat. But it is not as if you have any other choice.  _It's for the greater good,_  you think. The end justifies the means, right?

That same end you haven't thought about until now. Everything happened too fast, it barely left you any time to actually meditate about the project.

It is far late to back down; you didn't stand up to a man who practically murdered you with his eyes for nothing. You have to do it for her, for your mom. You  _have_ to, but as much as you delve into the dark corners of your heart, the will of bringing honor to your mother's death is shadowed by something despicable.

You wish that what is pushing you to do it is the infinite love for your mother, telling yourself that _that_ project is the closest thing you have of her. Or that you want to help humanity achieve something amazing, but saying that it does is a lie.

It is your pettiness and need for approval from someone who didn't look at you twice and already wanted to kick you out that it's making you stay. It is the feeling of guilt stabbing your chest when you look at the man who lost a friend and wants to make her dream come true. 

But you tell yourself over and over and over again that you are doing it for your mom. So much you even start believing it.

The more circles you give it in your mind the more somber your thoughts become. Your lips quiver, inspiring the waterworks in your eyes that take no time in rolling down your cheeks. 

For the first time in the past two days, you finally understand that greatness or selfless acts of bravado weren't designed for someone like you. You know it, and so do they. 

The gloom swimming in your head dies down with your quiet sobs, flushed away by your shutting eyes. Your mind blacks out and your breath becomes slow. Peace after the storm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_If only you knew how often are rough diamonds mistaken for worthless pebbles._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope that you've enjoyed it. This time I went the extra mile and read the whole damn thing out loud. That's how dedicated I am as both the editor and author of this fic. 
> 
> I also made some little tweaks to the first and second chapter, solely to make them more understandable and to match the succeeding chapter flow. 
> 
> See ya! And remember to check under you bed:)


	4. Part one: fodszqufe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ju xbt kvtu b esfbn  :) 

* * *

  **CHAPTER FOUR:**

 **Part One:** fodszqufe

* * *

 

 

**_Press Play before reading_ **

* * *

Standing behind the counter you stared at the door. Praying for a customer seemed not to be working, so instead, you began complaining to test fate's patience. It ought to get tired of your nagging sooner or later, although you weren't sure if a mere mortal were able to get to the bright pink, velvety ghost's nerves.

For all the time it had been floating by your side, it didn't show any emotion but a woebegone grimace of void features. Its eyes were that of a cartoonish spirit, downturned and resembling a couple of dark holes in a blanket. Its mouth was wobbly, almost like the quivering lips of someone who is about to cry, except lacking teeth and tongue, much like the lack of detail in its eyes. It also sported a soft-to-the-sight, floating body similar to an oversized blanket made of bright pink fur. 

You were tempted to run your hand over it, just to make sure it was as soft as it seemed, but you didn't know if you were next on his hit list. Let's hope you hadn't revealed too much.

Throwing a suspicious glare at him, you muttered a vicious, "I'll k̵i̷l̸l̶  you." You horizontally slid your thumb against your neck. You were going to d̶e̵s̷t̶r̶o̵y̵ her after you fed the three soldiers that, until you gave them their precious coins, were not going to stop their disastrous symphony. Kids, right? 

Before you took the boat to the slaughterhouse, a knock on the door flaunting a Christmasy beat teleported you instantly to the entrance, opening it without much thought and revealing a tall, dirty-blond man of liquid appearance.

He took a step in and the shop started rotting, losing the lively brown it once tinged its wood with and decayed into a dead grey. 

He was far more interesting, though; jiggly and watery, and although the urge of poking him with your finger was dominating your instincts, you opted against it. If you didn't know any better, you'd have thought that he was going to become a puddle of Scout water.

He took your hands and s̴t̶a̷r̸t̵e̶d̸ ̶w̷e̶e̵p̵i̵n̷g̵ the name of s̷t̵r̶a̶n̸d̸s̷ ̴o̵f̴ ̵a̷s̷h̸e̷s̷ ̴a̷n̸d̷ ̵o̶r̵b̷s̶ ̸o̷f̴ ̵c̶l̶e̴a̴r̸ ̴b̸l̸u̸e̵ ̵s̴k̵i̵e̴s̶. Black tears that weren't his ṗ̸̟a̴̭͝ì̴͉n̴̊͜f̸̯̆u̴̹͠l̸͙͛l̶̨͠y̵̠̅ pouring out of his eyes and plastering over your body. Thick and sticky, impossible to shake them off once in contact with your skin and clothes. They were also big, almost the size of an overweight t̶̙͝a̷̲͂d̸͖̃p̴͍̌o̶̻̚l̶̮̏e̶̛̳. 

You felt murky and gross, for some reason also pathetic and sad. 

"T̶̛͓̟̲̑ͅî̴̢̲t̸̯̰̎̈́a̴͚͇͝n̵̙̼̂s̵̍ͅ!̵͇̔̈́̈́͆" the wobbly man cried, shaking your tear-covered body. "T̶̜̣͍͓͒h̶͈̗͐̌͛ẹ̸̖͗̀́̈́y̷͕̆ ̸̙̒̐͌à̸̡̧̜̫̏̎͒t̸̡̀̂̏̕ë̶̻́̑ ̶̢̧̙̓̄͋̏ḩ̸̛̝̭̏̀ḙ̵̺̾̔r̴̝͌̕!̶̣͖́̈́͠" With each scream, his grip and shaking became stronger, more hurtful. "T̴̠̘͛̈́̀͋i̸̩͇̒͑t̶̤̠̹̔ͅa̷̱̅n̴̺̖̤͛̓s̸̙̗͆̄̒̈,̶̈́ͅ ̶̗̙ͅ(̶̧̲̯͈̚F̷̟͊̐/̶̜̬̇̃n̸͇̳̗͊̍͠)̵̯͆̓!̶̗̠͕͕̄́" 

Confused, sad and angered, you barely understood what that man was saying. His black tears ś̶̡̮͇̀w̷̻͖̞̗̌̏̄a̷̧̛͕̹̞̐͊l̷̥̚͜ḷ̸̢̞̽̎o̴̼̥̲̻͌̾̑͘ẘ̷͙̓ị̸̙̯̮̊̊̚ṇ̷̡̦̗͋̇͘g̸̞̟̀̍͑ ̶̺̘̓͛y̸̲̩̓o̴͕u̵̩̇͒ ̷̗͗͜q̷̦͚̟̄͗́̿u̸̹̙̤̿ȉ̵̡c̶̡̼̎k̴̢̗͔̈͌͘l̷͓̗̰͐̈́y̸̢̛̰̭̗ ̴̨̰͆ made it more difficult to comprehend him. They started b̶͈̈́͗͝u̶̫̅͆̇r̶̩͋͝n̸͙̩͇͇̒̍̚ĩ̵̘͒n̷̨̰̖͒ĝ̷̜̜͍͋̿̇ͅ ̶̜̭͈̺̔̄y̷̛̭̤̯̪̑͘o̷̧̻͖͙͒̚ȗ̴̖̂͆͝ṟ̴̲̓ ̸̥̈h̵̢͙͉̫͒̕e̴̮͕̥̟̾̑̇ă̴̭̭̱ͅd̶̠͂͊, melting its top and filtering into your s̸̢͕̣̄k̶͎̭̈́ṵ̷̟̓͘l̵͇͕̥͂̂̚l̷̫͔̣̻̕ until it reached your b̴͚̈́̐̄͘͠r̴̛̪̅̈̃a̵͓͔̭͛͊̄ỉ̷̼̭͗͌n̴̠͔̊̐̈́. The pink muscle was now ḑ̴̍r̵͈̄̾̈́͝o̵̥͇̟̊̐̽w̴̡̨̩̰͘͝n̶̡͔͇̘̲͛͗ỉ̷͖̌̈̀n̵̮̝̳̚g̸̡͕͆̑ ̴͇̻͙̟̍̓̏į̵̪̗͕̺͌͆n̵̲̮͓͚̻̈́̍̇ ̷̺̲͊̿̔ä̴̢̰̗̳̳́̕ ̶͓̩̚b̶̘͜͠l̸̟̿̔̅a̸͐̎̌͠ͅc̵̭̯͕̈́͋k̴̗̾̕ ̵͈̝̝̍ͅp̸͈͚̗͛ỏ̶̜͕͌̒͠͝ǫ̸̡̗͕̣͂̌̔̑l̸͚̦͇͎̩̎̒ ̷̢̬̯͈̋͜͝o̸̘͊̈́̾͐f̶̺̩̄̂̒̕ ̸̦̞͛̕t̵͕̰͎͎̅̾̎͒̌h̷͓̫͍̜͛̄e̷̙̥̐ ̴̲̓͊͌̊̕ṣ̷͓͔͒̈́͛͘̕t̶͉̉̾͊̂̑r̴̨̞̼̩͒͐̍̎ͅa̷̻̩̪̼̤̅͆̉͑n̸͍͇g̴̳̽̕ě̶͉̘̮̉͐͠ ̸̢͖̬̠͆͜s̴͔̊̓̍̚ǔ̸̘̩̻̒̈́̿͛b̸͙̭̆s̶͎̏t̵͖̓a̴̪̰̼͔̥̒̉̆͂̚n̵̨̼͚̦̽̄c̷̘̙̅͜e̷͓͖̞̫͇̾̈́̿͝; the goo crawled up on it, coating it and submitting it to its ̶̞̍d̷̦̖͙̰͒̎͂ụ̶̡̞͇͍̽̈̑b̷̦̿͊͑͑̔i̶̳̇e̶͙͠t̸͕̽̏̀̐͝ẏ̸̗͔͒̄͑͠ ̸̢͇͎̖̇̂̑a̸͎͕̹͚̒̋͗n̵͔͇̘͉͕̄͊̒̕͝d̵̹̘̭͍̅́ ̸͓͙͓́̈̈́d̶̰̗͎̪̃̓ͅį̸̯̦͓̜̅̊͛s̷̢͇̬̘͗̑̾m̵̮̦̌̂̾ȁ̷͇͍͓͋l̴͍̼̬͂͌ͅ ̸̩̟̤̈e̵̥̰̜̭̩̔s̵͖̬͒̇́s̵̲̿̔̍͝ͅe̸̛̞n̸̡̓͆̌͐͝c̶̡͚̝̫͕̐̿̈́͗̆e̸̢̻͎̟̓͌̒.̸̠ͅ ̵̠̻̪̂

Soon, you, too, t̸̡͕̰́͋̇͑ŭ̷̡͕̝̬͜r̴̙̼͉̎̊̇͗̊n̶͙͚̝̟̽̓͜ę̴͕̖͊̅ḍ̷͌̾̆̕ ̵̢̞̭̼̈́͋i̷̯̠̠̐ͅn̵̞̬̈́̍̏t̵̡͙̮̭̤͑̍o̷̭̱͛ ̶̭̫̎̔a̷̝̖̤͛̿̏͠ ̶̜̜̖̠̊b̶̮́̐͘l̷̺̩̜̀͌a̴̭̟͖̽̉c̶̙̗̰͆̅̕͘k̴̟̮͖̤̭͊,̸̧͔̟͓̕ͅ ̸͉̏̀̄͝s̵͇̟̠͖̄̒l̵̨̗͍̱̐̔͊̃̚i̵͚̣̤̪̱̍͝m̴̨̧̗͍̃̐͆ŷ̴͍̳̭ͅ ̷̞͇̉̇͝a̵̘͙̟͈̠̋͌͗b̷̻̯̠̫͉̅͛o̸̫͊͝m̶̟͗͘i̷͉͈̙̮̱͌n̴̘̹̊̑̕a̵̤̋͠t̶̨͙̥͊͋̍ͅi̶͉͇͖͍͚̾͑̎̎̎ọ̴̧̞͈̃ñ̸̫̼̻̱̑̊̏͝, face contorting in a similar expression to f̶̨̙͔̄̄́ͅḁ̵͇̼̈́͊̋̃̂t̵͇̟̏e̷͍͉̘͍̣͝'̷̡͈̙̲̥͆š̵͈̆̾͆̑ ghostly features. 

Unfazed by you, the man kept screaming. "(̷̢͕̤͖̬̩͚̮̳͂́͘̚F̸̗͆̓̎̔͊̔̈͐̕͝/̶̦̮̝̣̭̽̽͒̅͑ǹ̶̢̺͖͖̤̝͔̖̆̏͊͌̃̍͘͜͠ͅ)̴̬̱̩͕̖͈̇̈̌.̸͇̮̱́̔̊̋̚͜͝ ̵͓͕̻̩̺̐͐̍̀̎̎̏̾͂͠T̵͔͉͈̻͒̓͑̊͒̉͜͠͠i̷̢͖͖̩̊̃̓̄̇̈́̚͝t̷̖̭͛͛͘ã̵͓͔̣͖̈̋̈n̷̛̪̻̪͕̝̩̫̓̄̇̈́̅š̷̤͚̞͙̖̻̎͠,̴̨̟̞̗̺͍͙̪̽͜ ̶̢͕͉̃̍(̴̢̛̪̼̬͕̞̲͙̲̳̐͒͌̾̽͝F̶̗̠̰͍̻̳̪̓/̷̣̖͓̦̦̓͛ń̷͍̟͚͍͖͇̝̮͜)̶̳̹̖̫̱̋͊̚ͅ!̴̩̼̫̰̣̯̭͍̝͓̈́̆" He could no longer shake you, too dense to be moved even by a miserable inch. "T̸̢̨͇̟͕̺̱͍̱̞̹̣̭̝̻̀͝ͅi̸̧̡̛͕̘̤̝̗̹͔͈̱̘͕̬̱̺̋͒ͅt̶̢̛̬̲̪͈͔͈͎͓̳̭̥̫̮̺̐̇̔̓̓̌͌̆̓͗̇͠ą̸̢͍̙̖̩͍͓̦̬̯̩̝͇͈͔̪̑͒̒̈̃̏͊̚̕͠͝ͅņ̶͓͎̝̗̜̥̠̊͊̅͆s̷̢̢̧̯̣̻̳͉̺̜̲͉̞̱̘̐͜,̸̨̢̢̡̡̨͖̳̟̙̯̱̦͚̝͊̀̋̾̍̈́̉̀̽͊̿̍͗̓͘͜͠ ̵̢͕̬̣̠̝̞̣̳͖̘̦͕̗͆̃͂̆̇͊̐̆̈(̵̦̓̌̂̉͆͂̎̊͌F̷̢̟͍̭̫̝͈͓̔̀̏͛͘/̴̢̬͙̯͓͚̿͌̅͘n̶̜̖̯̑́̋̚)̴̛̥͔͕͉̲͇͇̖͈̞̲̖̳̦̯̊̅̄̌̒̇̑͑͌̾̈́̔͒͝͝͝!̵̡̡̜̝͈͖͚̼̬̭͚̿͊̎̾̉̕" 

It was suffocating. Liter, a̴̧̛͈̣̹̦̱̭̲͓͍̺̩͈̮͎̲̱͋̽͋̎̈͑͐̎̽̈́͌̊͜͠͝͠f̷̼̪͙̮̍́̕t̸̡̧̪̱̬̠͖̣̙̱̱͎̭̫̣͇̜̉͐̈́̆̑̔̓͌̽̈́̓͒̕͠ë̷̛͙́̊̐̾̎̔͂̾̈́̍̓̏̍͘͘͜r̷̢͇͈͛͗͐́̔̌̀͒́̃ ̷̡̛̱̣͇͖͎̞̜̮͈̣̀̉̍͋̉̈̅̏͋̏̔̚̕l̸̜͚̪͍̪̰̪̞̟̺̟̘̗͚̗̿͑̍̉̒̆͝ĭ̶̭̭̲̥̹͕̽t̶̞͚̹̰̯̮̱̝̹̄͋͐́̐͂͆̃̉̋͐̈́̏̐̕͘̕e̴͓͎͈̖̯͎̤̓͑̑̎͑̅̏̔͝͝ͅr̶̦̩̻̘̫̝̈́̓̉̓͊̈́͛̽̕͘͝͝͠,̴̡̧̙̩̻̜̰͓͔̣̯̱̜̌͐̈̅̓̌͋͜͝ͅͅ ̵̨͉̳͈͎̥̣̀̔̊̈́͘̕̚͜â̴̱̼͓̌̉͋̽̐̉̈́͝f̴̲̥͎̖̻̺̖̭̈́̒͊̾ͅţ̴̰̟̈͛̏̕ë̶̡͙̯͙͉̙͙̘̟̩͓̹͖́̌̆̆̿̒̋͑̊͠r̷̘̟͍̥̅̿̅̅̾͑̏̀̄̌̋̉̇͘͠ ̸̧̝̙͓̤̖͉͙͇͎͈̱̳͖̣͂̌͑͐̀̄̏͑̃͆̊̂̕͜͠ḻ̴̛̜̪̟̠̥̩̑̏̊͛̓̎̇̏̈͂͐̕̚i̴̡̮̹͔͕̽̈́̑͌̒̃͑̂̐̀̆̓͑̏͠t̵̗́̒̑͂̈́̈́̅̐͘ȩ̸̘̐͂͐̅̂̓̿̽r̶̼͚͎͎̞̠̬̪̟͍̺̯̥͔͈͙͌̍ ̵̺͚̥̫̻̖̻͓͎̱̟̲̜͗̅̏͜p̸͕̦͇̝̄o̸̹͓̟͓̗͈̹͛͐̈́̓̈́̇̒̚ṻ̷̥͙̖̜̲̱̰̬͇̲̤̭̏̿̏̾̓̏͋̚̕͘̚̚͜͜ȑ̶̢̨̺̩̮̫̲̝͕̮̫i̸̙̿̂̄͗̒̽̒̓̉͆͐̊ņ̴̧̛̬͍̪̹̙̱̰̩̝͔͙̱̈́̍̿̎̉̆̒͛̃̓͑͋́͌̕ḡ̴̣̳̪ ̶͈͓̻̺͉̲̥̞͕̱͖̤̈́̓̆̄̏̔̊ͅd̷̡̠͚͙̗̮̲̜̖̬͈̥̻͐̅̉̽͋̏́͆̿̎̊̚͜͝͠͝͝o̶̮͚̝͈͔͖̗͇̣͖͍̫͉͎͑͆̉̎͛̓̄̇̅̚͝͝ŵ̷̙̘͆͛̿͊ņ̸̨̩͈̥͎͚͚̘̣̹͇̗̞͒ ̵̨̛͙͚͔̳͕̥̤̳̤̩͐̈́̓̏̓͌͜͝a̶͈̫̹͔̠̺̤͕̔͠n̷̡̳̾̀ͅḓ̸̡͕̫͉̼̩̲̲̺̼̫̳̟̪̎̄̋̊͂͛̓̓ ̸̡̨̱͖̼̼͇͖̮̀͜o̴̪̼̮͐v̵͎̰̗͕͔̜̹͈͕̞̰̘̫͍̳̬͓͗́̊̄̓̇̄̆͌͐͆̈́̌̋̔͑͜ȅ̷̛̛̝̼͙̺̻̙̹̝̰̰̝̫̣̝̲̆͆͒̊̍̐͝r̶̢̧̨̛̮̫̲̰̩̬̬͇̦̩͉̾͋̈́̾̀̽͒̿̈́̚̕͜͜ ̸̧̧͉̞̣̱̩͓̘̪̳̮͒̋͂y̸̛̭͊̈́̂͛̈́̔͌̈́̑̈́̚͠o̵̢̨̢̢̢̖̯̟̥͍͚̯̘̰̩̮͐̊͆͊̐̇͜ų̵̲͓̝̱̣̋̕r̶̛̩̦̟͆͑̃̓͝ ̶̢̧͎̹̲̟̲̭͉̼̪̦͇͕̩̾̍͌̈́̍̓͗͗̌̔͘̚ͅͅf̸̥͑̐͒̈́̈͘a̵̛͎̙͎̅̓̇͗͒͛̔̓̒͊͘͠ç̵̩̳̖̜͖̮͂̄͋̈́̾͝ȩ̴̣̼̙͔̭̾̈́̽̒̒́́̊̓͌̉̒̅̑͝, slithering uninvited to the insides of your nose; ̶̗́͒̄̾̆̓͛͗̒̓̈́̔̆̇̚͝k̴̹̈̐̋̔̽̽̀̅̽̇͛̃̃̃̄̓͘i̷̡̢̧͓̹̪͕̦̗̯̠͇̺̊̓̌͒̅ş̶̧̟̣͚̱̥̲̱̤̙͙̰͕͔̖̮͋̿̍̒̏̈́͑̓͋͑́̕̚̕͜͝ş̷̢̺͎͚̘̫̮̺͍͓͙̝̮̳̝̐͐̇͊̓̾̽͜i̵̡̟̝͇͈̲̲̜̱̓͊͑̌̆̄̍̌ͅͅn̷̛͎̈́͑g̵̞͔̱͈̟͎͈̠̫̖̮͗̽͑͗̊͊̋̍̔͠͝ ̶̨͓̻̻͙̊͒̎͆́͂̈y̷͈̑ȍ̵̧̱̲͙̻̜̙̭̘̯̰̘̻̖͓͒͑͊͋͘͝ǘ̵̫̯̘̭͕͓̑͛̍͑̆͂͐͘͝ŗ̵̧̛̛̤̣̭̤̳̤̲̙̼̠̭́̅͌͋̎̓͒̇͒̌̋͘̕͠͠͠ͅ ̸̬̊͌̒͜ͅl̴̛̟͛͛̀̆̎̏̑̊͋̀̔̎̕͝͝i̷̭̤͙̹̩̻̙̝̟͇͔͓̋̒̎̎̎̄̓̄̂̐͗͑̿̇͘͝ͅp̵̢̧̧̺̝̤̭͍̠̺̪͍̩͈̰̼̊͝s̶̨̛͉̯̣̜̪̼̟͓̝̦̣̈́͑̎́̈́̈̿̆͝ and savoring the interior, forcing themselves in. You couldn't move. You d̷̜̺̰̼͓͇̎̊͐̿͗̊̿̀̑͌͘į̴͖̯̞̘̪͔̏̍d̴̺̳̳̻̺̍͋̆̽̈͆̓͑̌̈͊̔̃̎͛̚ǹ̸͈͕̙̮̗̝̥̮͕̹̪̐̃̎̃̂͂̀͑̓͊͗̈͘͘͝ͅ'̶̞̬̎̈́̈̎̒̐̈́̎̓̒͋͘t̶̢̧̘̩̰͕̩̜̞̝̻͔̼̓ ̵̪͈̄̐̓͗̆̈̈́̓̋̀͘̚ŵ̵̻̪̄͋͝a̶̡̼̠̙̮̫̤̙͓̻͉͚̮̣͉̪̥̯̾̄͋̐͝n̷͇̥̹̗̠̘̺̳̋̅͊͑̈́̔̀͑̈́̽̅̓͋̕t̵̪͇̅̊̌̾͛̈́͝ ̸̹̲̳͎͍̝̤̱̃̓̈̃̈́̈́̀͑̒̆̽̌͘̚͝͝ẗ̷̢̛̙̯͕͙̮̲̘͎͙́̿́̀̑̈̍̈̈́̀o̴͖̱̣͇̼̹̗̮̍ ̵̧̢̛̛͔̹̝̳͔͋̈́͂́̆̄͗̒̓̃̈́͛͌͝͠m̷̧̟͎͈͙̖̯͚͖͎̠͎̖͇̲̈̑̍̕͜͠ͅo̷̧͙̝͔̻͇̞̟̾̔̾̅̓̕͠v̷̻͕̼̠͈̠̖̩͛̔̇̈̄͛͑͂̈́ͅe̴̡͓̫̙̫̪̱͉͓̖̞̺̝̓͛̈́͂̉̾̔͆̉̐̕. Letting it take over you seemed feasible and just. 

"(̸̧̧̨̛̥̗̭̟̗̮̗̦̙̼̙̟̼̣̮͉̔̿̽̈́̒ͅF̴̧̧̛̬̥̝̯̺̟̙̫̯̻͕̬͔͚͓̟̔̽̆̋̆̌͌͛̔̒͛̏̓̉̊̀͐̒̊̾̌̅̄͝͠͝ͅ/̵̬̜̟̯̗̼̫͇͍̪̣̺̬̫̱̰̭̬̘̹̥̇̇̔̄̚ͅņ̷̹̬̟̖̭̜̥͉̺͂̆͋̐̽̅͆͘)̶̨̢̡̬̫̗̹̼̙̞͕̱̫̼̗̜̹̯͍͉̙̫̤̝͓̉́̃͜ͅ!̴̨̛͔̻̫̲̲̗̗̮͕͈̯̘͖̟͎̝̖͈͔̰̻̺̣͈̖͑́̏̍̽̽͐̀̽̆̈́̅͆̋͆͋̌͘͝" the man wept. "T̶̡̛͖͉̤̜̥̝̩̣̪͖̔̂̽̐̌̓̊̐̏̒̉̕͠į̷̨̭̰̭̥̙̹̼̺̺̻͎͈̲̳̟͔̲͎̱͖͎̤̠͓̯̰͎̟͇̺͎̻̩̺̆͂̆̓̈́͒͌̆̂̅̄̒͋̾̓́̒͒͌͘͜t̸̰̪̦̫̲̳̲̩̺̻͚̝͙͍͔͌͒̅̀̄̀̈͂͆̊͝ą̵̻̤͍̬̬̮̤̺̱̍͒̓̒̐͋̊͂̂̕n̴̡̤̺̼̩̒͑͆͗͒̀̾͛́̓̚̚̚͠s̶̢̨͇̤̞̥̲̗̬͕̦͙̟͔̘̜̩̝̠̲̟̮͔̫̃̅̒̋͂̈̄́̅̃̏̓̊̋͂̓͒͒͊͆̿̆̔̕͠ͅͅ,̸̡̢̣͔͓͕͖̦̦͈͔̭̜͖̯̮̣̱̝͇͔̊͗̃̍̌̊̾̿̌͜͜͠͝͝ ̶̨̛̛͔͚̟̞̟̜͎̫̦̱̠̩͍̘͇̝͛̌̇̀͑̉̈́͋̐̏̀͗̊̋̏͌̾͐͑̔͠(̵̡̦̩͂̍̐͛͒̓̊͒̍̏̀̇͠F̵̨̛̛͈̩̲͔̫̯̩̞̭̣̜̦͎͙̯̥̭̫̭̦̙̦̦͉͕͉͈̿̆̇̄̉̔͒̎̇̀̇̌̊̾̋̿̀̓͐̅̕/̴̧̛̙͉̬̭͖̟̇̒̔͆̍̿͌̊͂͋͊̄̄͂̾̈̐͑̇̎̈̎̿͆͐͘̚̚̚͘̚͝͠ņ̵̛̥̤̳̺̠̮̩̿́͂̀̉͌̊̈́͊̇̽̉̊͗͋́̍̇͋̒̄̌̂̕͝)̴̧̨̛̟̟͖̱̻̟̬̭̹̒͂͑̾̋͌̽͊̄̈́͑̋͊̈͌̐̌̎̔̓͛̎̅̓͒͋̅̅͌̿͜͝͝͝͝!̵̨̡̛̝̲͚̪̫̠̹͕͕̱̙͎̝͔̮̹͓̥̜̜̜̘̪͚̯̳̝̙͓͑͗͆̓̌̈́̈̈͐͂̋͗̂͑̈́̒̈́̆̀́͒̇͌͘͝͠͝͠͠͝͝ͅ" 

His voice became lighter.

"(̸̡̧̤͙̩͎͙̖̜̺̯̖̦̟̐̏̽̌̏̿̈̏̅̅́̐̊̉͂͑͗͜͜F̶̨̭̮̥̔̋̈́̀̆̾̈͛̋̏̇̅̌̽͐͆̍̂͆͘͝/̶̯͗̈̂̅̈́͐̆̇̂͌̐̔͊̽͐̽͆̃̎͠n̴̟̭̭̖̪̞̩̖̳̰͑̅̏̓͆͂̂͐̏́̿̃̓̈̈̑̚͠ͅ)̴̧̡̠̲͔̭̟̹̥͎̞̜̯̓͜!̷̤̇̏͘"

And softer.

"(̴̡̧̨̱̮̩̼̈́͌̇̑̎̉͜͝ͅF̷͇̺̼̹͋̓̂͌̂̉̋̈́̑/̵̩̄̓̎̂̑̈́͐͑n̸͍̖͍͈͓̥͕̞̈̅̕ͅ)̷̻̼̤̰̱̞͔̙̬̆͜!̴̦̓̿̈̈́̿̈́͛̒͝"

High pitched.

"(̵̫͚͙̈F̶̡͍̰̔̽/̴̥̙̜̦͒n̵̨̛̬̼̽͑͊̎)̶̬͓͍̎̉̂̉." 

That of a woman.

"(̵F̴/̶n̴)̴." 

No, a girl. 

" **(F/n)!** "


	5. Part two: Horsing Around

_Source: Attack On Titan Anime_

 

* * *

  **CHAPTER FOUR:**

 **Part Two:** Horsing Around

* * *

 

You take a desperate, deep breath as your eyes snap open in a frenzied stare. Shooting yourself up from your bed, you scramble around for a while, unsure of your surroundings and if what you experienced previously was a dream. You also have the extreme urge to cry, but no tears nor sobs come through.

"For the three Walls' sake, (F/n)! Are you alright?" Nico holds your arms tightly, using one hand to grab your face and forcing you to look at her. 

Your sight is aimless and crazed, matching your uneven and hasty breaths as a direct result from your mind trying to sort itself. And at the same time trying to protect you, making sure to pump enough adrenaline through your veins in case whatever your subconscious projected is real. It blocks your throat and pinches your chest, rendering you speechless.  

Nico searches for your eyes, and when she finally positions herself in your gaze, she gives you a worried yet soft look. "(F/n), calm down. It's okay, you just had a nightmare," she whispers, waiting for your panic to settle down and return to you your sanity. 

Her sudden grip and emergence before you shake you slightly, and for a split second, you don't recognize her.

Your breath stabilizes slowly as the turbulent waters of your mind become quiet. The increasing calmness inside of you has to be attributed to Nico's gentle caressing of your head, which, with a little imagination, both of you seem like a princess petting a shy deer. 

Once Nico sees you are starting to calm down, she climbs down the bunker bed ladder from your mattress and stares at you from below. "I wish we could stick around for a while to talk about it, but we don't have much time to get dressed," she says, tucking her blue shirt inside her white pants. "We have to hurry up if we want to make it on time to training." 

It takes a bit to process everything she is saying, but after a brief moment of staring into the void, it finally hits you. A frown stains your expression as you turn to the side to look down at Nico, who is now pulling her brown jacket on. "Aren't we having breakfast first?"

So far the scouts have proven to be mildly cruel, though you doubt their barbaric tendencies reach the extreme. In other words, you don't think they are sadistic enough to physically torture your body before feeding you breakfast...

...right?

Nico lets out a huff of taunting air through her nose. "Nope. They aren't as nice as the Training Corps." She looks at you with a raised eyebrow and pouting lips, 'can you believe this shit?' reading all over her expression. 

No, you can't believe that shit, but your bewilderment doesn't reach the amount of gut-stabbing factor you expect. You can even say you saw it coming. Still, you seriously have to lower your expectations. 

You climb down the ladder and look around, finding three fully, scout-uniform-dressed ladies. Remembering what Petra told you last night, you walk to the dresser in the middle of the bunker beds, then pull out the first drawer, finding a neatly folded uniform. You take it out and shake it before you to inspect its size. If your sight-guess is correct, then it should fit.

Pretending not to be profusely confused about the raging amount of belts hanging from what it seems to be a leather harness, you take the remaining pair of boots and make your walk of shame to the same spot you changed clothes last night.

There is still potent reluctance in your movements. Just because you forced yourself to undress before them the night before, it doesn't mean that you are happily going to take off your nightgown and put up a show. No sir. If anything, you have barely come to terms with the fact that you are going to be sharing your last drops of privacy with three girls.  

Disrelishing the thought of taking off your clothes, you have no choice but to finally undress. Your cheeks taint in red embarrassment as your limbs join in with disruptive trembles. It doesn't take much time to change as fast as you can, and if they happen to question your hastened self, then you'll blame it on timeliness.  

The pants and shirt are on, now you have to figure out how _the_   _ **fuck**  _does that harness thing works. You hold it by each of the two small, twin straps in front of you, trying to connect the belts in hopes of deducing how it would look on you.

With a cautious glance behind your back, you carefully inspect the girls' attires, paying close attention to the belt pattern over their clothes. 

You then realize you are holding it upside down; the couple of twin straps you initially thought belonged to the arms, are supposed to brace the legs. Along with that discovery, you also understand that the long pair of cords are suspenders; attached to them, a wide piece of brown cloth with a belt designed to secure it around the hips. There is an additional strap, perpendicular to both suspenders, most likely to fit the chest. 

This is probably going to be the easiest task you are going to do throughout the day. 

Effortlessly, you put the maze of a harness on and secure each of the belts, then slip inside your (long-ass) boots, which by some divine intervention from the Walls fit like a glove. You finally put on the brown jacket.

How you look is left for your imagination to decide, as whoever designed this poor excuse of a cabin thought that a mirror would be overkill to the lack of a bathroom, the creaking floors, and shaky bunker beds, but you digress. 

Leaving your complains aside, you notice the sudden increase of sound from outside. You hear marching and doors being slammed open, accompanied by shouts. Your interest is immediately piqued. 

As you are going to check it out, someone rushes by your side. Looking to the left you notice it's Petra, who is now peeking through the window next to the door.

"Get in formation, girls. Commander Shadis is greeting the entire camp," she says, nervousness tinging her mildly shaky tone.

Quickly returning to her friends, she and the other two girls line horizontally in front of the bunker beds with their arms behind their backs, facing the entrance and wearing the most serious look their soft faces can muster.

With wide eyes and gritted teeth, Petra jerks her head to the side, signaling you to stand with them in line. 

You jump a little in an 'oh, right!' moment, making haste to the right end of the formation. There is no other choice but to imitate their stance and expression. Your usual look of uncertainty molds into a stone-cold couple of eyes and straight lips, matching it with your shoulders slightly drawn back and your chin raised a little to convey a confident character.  

Not a couple of seconds pass and the door is slammed open.

The sudden movement and the nearly deafening sound of wood hitting wood make you flinch. All of your strength is now solely focused on not letting be heard even a crumb of the squeal that is close to dart out of your throat. Thankfully, it doesn't come out, but it makes itself present with the tightness of your lips and widened eyes. 

Commander Shadis strides inside with all his intimidating might on toll. His mildly sunken eyes and barren golden stare dissect each one of the girls by your side and finally lands on you. "Good morning, cadets!" he barks, his voice astonishingly similar to a big dog scaring away intruders. 

Petra, Nico, and Isla click their boots and shove their left arms behind their backs, slamming their right fists against their chests. "Good morning, sir!" they answer in perfect unison. It almost seems they had practiced it for months, though considering they underwent training before that, it is only reasonable for them to react instantly and at the same time.

Not letting a second go by before it is more evident that you know shit, you mirror their actions, but your lips are sealed shut. Your lack of nerves is directly put on Commander Shadis' hands since he is aware of your situation, and therefore, you have the blind hope of him cutting you some slack.

You just aren't going to let down your expectations, are you?

"Welcome to your first day of hell on earth. Follow your comrades outside to the training field and brace yourselves for the ass-kicking of your life." He eyes the four of you, arms behind his back and wearing a monotonous expression, merely receiving a quartet of silence and four pairs of eyes zeroed in on his face.

He is, apparently, expecting action. "Do you want me to carry your pretty asses? Move out, soldiers!" 

The three girls chorus a loud 'yes, sir' and quickly march out of the cabin, with you following suit after being completely unaware of the obligatory answer. 

Your sight is greeted by what seems to be an infinite line of cadets, all walking towards the promised training field, as the early morning breeze hits your face harder than you expect, sending a shiver down your body.

You procure to remain close to your roommates, following the same logic as a duckling treading on the heels of its mother. You stay near to Nico; something about her exudes good vibes, but perhaps you are taken away by the brief acts solidarity she had shown you this morning and the night before.  

"Looking kinda nervous there," a fruity voice surges from your side, making you turn your head to spot it. A couple of striking, deep blue eyes and grey hair peers next to your shoulder. It's a boy, fellow cadet marching behind you. He flashes you his perfect pearly whites in a welcoming smile.

Naturally, your first reaction is a painfully evident blush, followed by a nervous chuckle and your head quickly snapping to the opposite side to avoid visage of your tainted cheeks.  _Don't just laugh, say something, dum-dum!_ you think, holding back the urge of smacking your face. "Really? How can you tell?" You try to smile, but the only expression your lips can manage to form is a... strange kind of half-assed display of your teeth. 

He doesn't seem to mind your awkward exchange, as he keeps the beam as wide as he first showed it to you. Tied with his kind expression, he is about to politely keep the conversation going until he notices a couple of piercing blue eyes staring back at you both.

Nico's eyes, to be precise. How she manages to keep a stable pace as she looks back? You have no clue. 

"Harlan, we're about to get grilled by people who have busted titan ass, get your hormones on check," she scoffs, following her remark by a taunting puff of air and rolling her eyes. "Ignore him, (F/n). Dumbass thinks you'll give him a chance." She gives you a 'can you believe that?' head shake and a smirk.

Ironically,  _that_ is the most believable thing that has happened to you so far, just a friendly (possibly flirty) exchange between two souls, nothing more, nothing less. Although you find her reaction quite curious. Perhaps they are dating, or maybe they were something in the past and she is still sour about it.

Naturally, you open your mouth to ask, though before a word can even do as much as strike your vocal cords, the guy, Harlan, ushers his walking speed to match yours and marches by your side. His gaze is firmly set on Nico's back, who had returned to her face to the front of her path. 

He turns to you and flashes a mischevious grin and closely slit eyes as he feigns a silent laugh and points with his finger at Nico. With a quick lean forward, he extends his arm toward her, and before you can register what is going on in front of you, he tugs a thick strand from Nico's short hair, pulling her head back as well. "Don't call me dumbass, dumbass," he retorts, stringing along a sly chuckle. 

Confused but mildly bothered, you are agape, glaring at him in hopes he catches on to your evident distaste. 

After letting out a yelp and nearly falling back, Nico swats her hand behind her and instantly turns around wearing the look of an angered bull. She inches to Harlan, who, knowing full well what's coming, flinches and gives a step back.

She is quicker, though, securely latching her index and thumb onto one of the few ashen strands stylishly hanging before his forehead, giving it a painful yank. "Dumbass." With that, she slides away to her initial walking spot.

You hear a quiet "Ow, what a bitch," muttered by Harlan wincing and rubbing his head. 

It was... entertaining, quite strangely so. Taking into account their strikingly similar appearances, one could even think they are—

 _Oh,_ you think, visible in your widened eyes and puckered lips.  _They **are**  siblings. _You feel mildly dumb for not thinking about that earlier; they are so clearly much the same as the other: grey hair, pale white skin, and striking blue eyes. Their relatedness is painfully obvious and yet, you weren't able to note it until now. 

You can't help but let a short puff of air out of your nose as you flick your gaze between the two. 

Harlan hears it and instantly stops trying to look at his hair and shifts his eyes to you, shining another smile. "Before you ask, yes, we are brother and sister. Please don't think I go around pulling random people's hair and calling them a  _dumbass._ " He emphasizes the last word by saying it louder and shooting a quick, narrowed glance at Nico. 

"I wouldn't be surprised if you did," you say as a little chuckle joins in, earning a playful frown and a smirk from Harlan.

"What do you mean?" He crosses his arms, walking sideways to face you whole.

Before you can answer, sunlight hits you directly in the eye, making you scrunch your eyelids and, stupidly enough, sends your face turning to the source. Placing a hand over your forehead to shield your vision, you are able to catch on to the newfound panorama. 

A barren field of tan dirt glistening with the sun's golden hues; alternatively, the point of no return for your intact limbs.

Everyone is scattered over the terrain, still close to the crowd as no one dares to as much as being a couple of feet away from each other just avoid whatever consequences it could carry wandering off _._ There is no need to worry about such thing yourself, though, as you plan to keep mirroring your roommates' behavior, seeing they have proven to be trustworthy role models so far.  

You keep looking around, spotting new faces, smelling new scents, and hearing the quickly dying chorus of voices chatting. It yanks your curiosity, and you try to find what's making everyone so quiet. 

"Two groups. One on either of my sides. Now!" A raspy and deep voice calls out, sending everyone in a subtly frenzied and still orderly speedwalk left and right. 

Losing Nico out of sight, you instead follow Petra to the left group, who just happens to walk by you.

"Formation!" The voice calls again.

People move around. 

You are still blindly trailing her, standing by her side once the commotion seems to be dying out. You check the space between yourself and Petra, then look to the side to measure the space between you and person next to you, attempting to stand at the same distance between the two as the people in the group before you. 

Satisfied with your measurements, you lift your head again to appear casual. 

Your throat tightens and your heart becomes erratic as the feeling of being naked invades your body. 

You are standing on the front row.  

Exposed, vulnerable and ignorant before a multitude, and the best you can do right now is to mimic their stone expression and confident stance, hoping against all hope that whoever walks down before you is merciful enough not to pick you for whatever wicked practice their masochistic military relish into. You only dare to look forward, fearing to cross the eyes of the soldier screaming out instructions.

"Today is your lucky day, cadets. And by lucky, I mean you are utterly fucked," the same voice commanding the group before announces. "As of this day, your pretty little asses will be handed to and put under the wing of Corporal Levi." 

Your heart drops to your stomach and you can instantly taste bile. 

"Didn't your mommy teach you manners? Show some respect to your superior and future bane of your existence, you cumberground, dalcop, toe sucking maggots." 

With terrifying unison, both groups push their left hands to their back and slam their right fists to their chests, barking a chorused 'sir' and remaining in that position like statues.

It takes you no more than a delayed couple of seconds to catch up to them and do the same, being extra-careful to put each hand where it belongs. 

Silence consumes the field again, only to be replaced by the crunchy sound of two people walking on dirt that, by the increasing volume of it, seems to be nearing to your spot. Along with it, the man begins shouting again, but you're too focused on not letting anyone even catch a glimpse of your nervousness to pay any mind to his words.

With your gaze still securely glued to the front, you notice with the corner of your eye a couple of figures getting closer. You are tempted to cut through all the red tape and look to the side to discover who is the yelling man, though your strong conviction of avoiding as much attention as possible remains intact. 

Your curiosity is finally satisfied as Commander Shadis walks before you, ignoring you completely much to your surprise. The satisfaction is short-lived, though, as Corporal Levi's presence, despite appearing shorter than you recall, chills your blood and blocks your throat.  

You have never been a girl of faith; still, you rely on a blind, dim and barely alive ember of hope that the holiness of the Walls is real, silently praying to them to make Corporal Levi as disinterested in you as Commander Shadis. 

_Maria, Rose, Sina, all I'm asking from your holy tallness is to make that man keep walking. I'll be eternally thankful and pray to you more often if you do._

But sadly, your prayers fall silent before a deaf deity. 

Corporal Levi stops walking right when he is perfectly in front of you; not an inch further, not an additional inch to any side. Precisely standing ahead of you with arms folded. His silver stare falls on you, sharp and cold enough to cut your face and freeze you entirely. He is wordless, but he doesn't have to say a thing to convey the dripping poison oozing in his stare. 

Hate is a strong word, and you're sure it perfectly describes his feelings toward you. You're not far from reciprocating them, anyway.

Be it not for the bone and flesh shielding your mind, he'd realize the terror and anxiety growing behind your monotone expression. The only giveaway is his awareness of your situation, which, quite frankly, you think is more exposing than straight-up kneeling and crying for mercy. 

The reassurance that he wouldn't dare to engage in a battle of wits with you in front of a multitude is Commander Shadis' presence next to him. Still, given that the last time he didn't do  _shit_ against Corporal Levi's uncalled for attitude, your confidence gets crushed to a pitiful zero. 

"Before you get started, do you have any words of inspiration for the cadets, Corporal Levi?" Commander Shadis shouts, regardless of the fact that he is standing by his side. 

Corporal Levi remains silent for a moment, his eyes finally get unstuck from you to scan the crowd, probably cutting everyone's heads in his mind. "No." Indifferent and callous, perfectly reflecting his persona. 

Commander Shadis lets out a laugh like that of a dog's bark, placing his arms behind his back and showing a content smile. "We are off to a great start." He continues his stroll down the path between the two groups. "At ease, cadets." 

Everyone moves their left arm to their back with a simultaneous shuffle, and instantly, you do the same. 

"One more thing." The sound of Commander Shadis' boots pressing against the dirt ceases. "For your sake, if I were you I'd give myself an extra scrub in the bath from now on," he warns before chuckling and continuing his walk, soon disappearing with his crunching boots.

Silence resurfaces and drowns your thoughts with worry. You have no idea what's coming next, and even if you did, you'd be as nervous as you are right now. The urge of puking is overwhelming, but you are doing a great job holding your insides back where they belong. 

Thankfully, his eyes haven't returned to you, which helps to ease your nerves a tiny bit. 

Still with folded arms, he finally speaks. "I expect full obedience to my orders. Any act of defiance will result in the punishment of the entire group, regardless of whose blame it is." He surveys each of their faces, and although you can't see it, you know he successfully instills fear in each of them. "This will teach you not to be a careless runt when working in a team. That, and collective hate makes for one hell of retribution." 

After looking at every person on your side, he turns around to give the same examination to the group in front of you. "Your first task today will be simple," he says. "Follow Lance Antje." He signals with an extended hand to his right side, where a young woman with arms behind her back is standing. 

Everyone turns to the side and begins moving towards her as she also turns around to walk. 

Without missing a beat, you follow while keeping your distance between Petra and who you just have realized is Harlan in front of you. 

"I kid you not, a shiver went down my spine when he stared at me," Harlan says, as quiet as he can be, still making sure you hear him. 

You would've laughed if your nerves weren't restraining any other emotion that isn't a complete lack of it. "Tell me about it. I felt like he punched me in the gut with his eyes alone," you whisper loudly, earning a hushed chuckle from him which paints a tiny smile on your lips.

"Who would've thought that Humanity's Strongest Soldier was going to be our mentor?" 

Harlan's question hits you like a brick to the chest.  _Humanity's Strongest Soldier?_ you ask yourself, going over the three words in silence and twirling them in your tongue, leaving a bitter aftertaste. Is that how they refer to Corporal Levi? You have heard that title before, in your mother's letters more precisely; along with it, a description that seemed fantastical: _"...working with us, is a man worth a hundred..."._

"It seems to me that he's more fit to be Humanity's Assholest," you add, more as a response to your previous thought than to Harlan.

Your comment seems to have inflicted a little too much humor in him, nevertheless, as he lets out a loud cackle that fishes the attention of everyone in the near vicinity. He flinches and covers his mouth, stifling his unfinished laugh. 

  _It wasn't even that funny,_ you think, widened eyes in reaction to his laugh. 

"I hope you two find shoveling horse shit at the stables as funny as your joke," a husky voice comments from your side. 

You snap your head to your left, nearly jumping at the sight of Corporal Levi walking next to you and Harlan, shooting daggers at you both with his glare

"My apologies, sir! It was me who told the joke and laughed. It was just too funny," Harlan says. "If there's anyone who needs to be punished is me."

What a brave soul. 

"I would be tempted to believe that hadn't I heard your shitty attempt at comedy, cadet (F/n)." His eyes land on yours, evidently relishing on the fact that your reaction is to look away from him and blush fiercely. "Luckily for you, I'm feeling particularly nice today, so you'll take it on yourself alone to leave those stables squeaky clean during breakfast."

Your head jerks up and a frightened look stains your face. " _What_?" you gasp, and you can't help but wonder if that's even legal; not that it even matters. Everyone in this camp seems to rule themselves by their own jurisdiction. Or in this instance, a lack of it. 

With eyebrows knitted together and raised in a shameless attempt for redemption, your lips part in a hurt gape, perfectly conveying to him a plead for mercy. 

"That'll be your ticket for your meal."

Any faith you had in the Walls has vanished. 

* * *

It takes the whole group a couple of minutes to reach the place of the "simple task". A bright, wooden room, spacious enough to fit the group with plenty of free space. What seems like dark wood, working benches placed evenly throughout it, have maneuver gears placed on top. There are also multiple stations with six big silver tanks of what you can only assume is pressured gas. 

The smell of oil, steel, and the particular scent of dirty tools wafts through your nose, making you smile at the remembrance of the repair shop, which had the same smell. Your happiness is fleeting, though, as Corporal Levi steps in front of all of you, along with a tall man with dirty-blonde shaggy hair. 

That man.

You stare at him, furrowing your brows slightly as you try to remember if you have seen him before. The more you look him the more he seems familiar, though you can't quite put a finger on it.

He notices your eyes on him, and when he spares you a glance, you can swear you see his calm expression shift briefly into a surprised one. For the millisecond it lasted, you are sure he seemed somewhat scared, but it was so short you can be imagining things. 

His eyes instantly flick away to someone else in the group, but yours remain on him, still trying to see if you can find him in your mind. 

"I-I'm Lance Aalto and I will be your instructor... for-for this task. Today you'll divide into two groups and... um, work in different stations with the 3DMGs we've provided for you. Either giving them maintenance or filling the gas tanks," he _attempts_ to explain, voice incredibly shaky and nervous; that much so that not even you would have spoken like that regardless of your situation. 

After another warning from Corporal Levi, which you purposely ignore, you follow your group to their designated station, the maintenance of the gears on the workbenches. For the first time in the past three days, something that you are accustomed to happens, and in fact, it's a whole atmosphere you are more than used to. 

Each of you is standing at an individual workbench, most of the cadets wearing a bothered look on their faces or straight-up confused. It seems like no one is too keen to do it. Who knows what they made them go through during training. 

Harlan and Petra are still on either side of you, the second one wasting no time to get her hands on the device, while the boy merely stares at it with narrowed eyes glinting with puzzlement. 

The sounds of the tanks letting gas through plus the clanking and hitting of metal make for a great cover to have a quick talk without being caught. Besides, everyone seems to be talking with their neighbor, so chatting Harlan up a bit doesn't seem so dangerous now. 

"Hey, um... thanks for taking the hit earlier," you say, giving him a warm smile. "It didn't work, but it was nice of you, nonetheless." 

Harlan looks up from his gear and turns to you, returning the smile. "I was the one who laughed like a big goof. Of course, I had to take the hit." He chuckles after his statement. 

You laugh too, though before you get too carried away by the conversation, you begin taking a look at the gear. Without shifting your eyes from the device, you tell him, "Don't take this the wrong way, but it seems that you have no idea what you're doing." To make your comment less harsh, you end it with a giggle. 

"Is it that obvious?" He flips his gear around a couple of times. "I may be good using it, but I'm a complete clown when it comes to opening and tweaking these things." 

His words make it to your brain, but you accidentally ignore him as you get too focused on your gear. After quickly inspecting its exterior, there's nothing out of place, so now you can make way to check the insides. The necessary tools to open it are not on the workbench, so you walk out of your place to gather them. 

You take a quick guess looking around and decide to check the wide chests on the back of the room. _"_ Bingo," you whisper, opening one and rummaging its contents to find all you need.  

"Did you miss something, cadet?" a cool voice asks from behind you. 

Too into your tool gathering, you almost don't catch it, nearly mistaking it with everything else that sounds like background noise to you.

Automatically, you reply, "No." Still pushing and pulling the objects around in your quest to find the last one necessary and the most important: a star head screwdriver. "Just taking what I need." 

You pull out a couple of screwdrivers, none being the one you need, so you keep looking.

Aside from the noisy atmosphere, the person talking to you falls silent, though it takes a bit for you to notice. 

"Why, is there something I can help you—" You turn around and freeze when you see Corporal Levi standing in front of you with arms folded. "—with...?" you mutter. Your heart begins to rush and hands react with mild trembles. You don't realize until now that you're not in the repair shop attending a client, you're in the repair room of the Survey Corps headquarters talking to the word 'ass' impersonated.

"Yes, return to your station." 

You blink a couple of times, forgetting for a moment what were you initially doing in the first place. Then, like a match becoming ablaze above your head, you remember. "I will, I just need to take some tools to open the gear," you manage to blurt out without stuttering. 

He looks around, then turns to you. "How come you're the only one that needs them?" 

You frown and jerk your head back, then move to the side to scan the place. 

Everyone is standing at their workbench, but then you notice something. Looking at each of the cadets' gears you see that no one is opening them, just dusting them or readjusting a few screws. You lift a brow at the sight. "They are just cleaning the shell," you point out, though not exactly to him.

He mirrors your raised eyebrow and turns around again, noticing the same thing. 

"By the looks of it, some don't even know what needs to be cleaned," you comment, and once more, it's more an out-loud thought to yourself. 

"You are right." 

You snap back from reality and blink rapidly a few times. Did he just hear you out without protest or an insult as a response? Perhaps he isn't as tight of an ass as you thought. Hell, you are willing to forgive the fact he made you clean a stinky stable. "I-I mean if by maintenance you meant cleaning the gear then yeah, that's what they are doing. Or at least trying to." 

"Everyone, stop this instant," he growls, the entire room falling silent immediately and every head turning to see him. "What the hell do you think you are doing?" He eyes every single face staring at him, though as soon as his glare lands on them they look away. 

No one dares to answer, mainly because they don't know if he wants one. That, or they are afraid. Probably the latter. 

Not Harlan, he just looks bored and annoyed. "We are doing what you told us to?" Of anyone that could have spoken, the most clueless one had to take the word, of course. His lack of self-preservation is admirable, though. 

"Are you, really? Because it seems to me that you're just blowing off a little of dust and staring at it until it fixes itself." He walks closer to you and gives you the same cold look that seems to be perpetually plastered on his face. "Cadet (F/n), please show them the  _proper_ way of giving maintenance to the gear. As, by the looks of it, not even the instructor has a clue of what the fuck is going on." He glares at Lance Aalto. 

So far, Corporal Levi hasn't ceased to surprise you. What's next, he's making you his assistant? 

Oh, wait... you already "are". 

You'd be lying if you said that being acknowledged like that doesn't feel great because it does. It feels awesome. It would also be a lie if you said that you hadn't thought about going to every cadet and teaching them how's it done because you did. And you are about to act on it (mainly because you are being ordered to do it, but you digress). 

You had done something similar countless times back at the repair shop; opening a device and explaining to the customer what's wrong and what needs to be done to fix it. Albeit never before in front of a crowd, which, naturally, is nerve-wracking, let alone fearsome. Even more so now that after Corporal Levi's mention of your name and body completely directed to you, everyone is staring at you, more expectantly than curious. 

"I'm not sure if I — " you say, meekly and hurried, though quickly cut off by him. 

"It's an order, cadet." 

You grit your teeth and your hands grip tightly at the tools you are holding. Your breaths are uneven, matching your quickening heartbeat. There's no other choice, and you really don't want to hear the string of insults he most likely has prepared for you in front of so many people, much less challenge his authority and get reprimanded for speaking up _._

Your foot taps anxiously against the floor as your eyes shift from him to everywhere else in desperate hope of a miracle.

You notice a single workbench at the front of the room, much like a teacher's desk, though this one has an inclined mirror above it, reflecting the top of the table.  _Come what may,_ you think, inadvertently voicing it out as you make your way to the front of the room. 

Corporal Levi trails behind you, but he sidetracks to your original workplace and grabs the gear on the table, then resumes his path behind your back. 

As you both reach the workbench at the front, he lifts the gear with a single hand and carefully lays it on the table, followed by you spreading over your new workplace the tools you are carrying. The sight brings a gloomy feeling of nostalgia, matching that of the memory of you and your mother working together in the repair shop, but you shake away the thought instantly, not wanting to put up a weeping show. 

After staring intently at the gear before you, you raise your head to meet everyone's eyes. Their attention sends a shiver down your spine, and for some reason, you seek Corporal Levi with your eyes as last resort to see if he's merciful enough to take back his order; which, evidently, doesn't work, as he merely glares at you with the same steely glint he looks with at anyone and anything.

You sigh. Your eyes shift to the gear as you quietly mutter, "Can't I just go wipe horse ass instead?" 

The room fills with hushed chuckles and muffled comments, as well as one instantly cut cackle, whose owner you're sure is Harlan. 

Of course, you don't expect to be met with such reaction, not because your question wasn't funny, but because you thought no one would hear. But then again, you didn't account for the sound-amplifying silence taking place before your impromptu standup show. 

Your head snaps frantically in Corporal Levi's direction and you look at him with a grimace and red cheeks, wordlessly saying sorry. 

He merely stares at you with a deepened frown. "If we're here to tell jokes, then at least try to be funny. And hurry up, the more you take trying not to choke with your tongue, the less time you will all have for a break." 

At that everyone falls silent. 

You look to the front again, this time slightly more determined to get this over with. You have one last deep breath. "Alright," you exhale, loud and clear for everyone to hear. "We were asked to give maintenance to the gears, so that's what we are going to do. Not just... rub it and clean the blades.

Given the nature of the scouts' aggressive environment, any loose screw or misplaced cable can define the difference between being launched directly to the jaws of a Titan or straight up plummeted to the floor," you explain, directly quoting a small piece from one of your mother's letters to make up for your lack of experience in the field.

You are met, once more, with chuckles from your audience, though this round is tied with averting eyes and nervous smiles. 

After a thorough explanation of the inner and outer components of the four principal sections of the 3DMG as a whole, you give loud instructions on how to tighten loose screws, straighten scattered cables, and in rare cases, reconnect the main taps to the cylinder. 

You seem to be doing quite a smooth job, as the crowd's eyes stare at you in awe, and you're almost sure you heard a 'holy shit' whispered somewhere in the back.

It isn't as bad as you thought. In fact, after talking for a minute or so, your nerves have disappeared almost completely. You even feel a little proud of yourself, evident in the sheepish smile you end the brief class with. 

Perhaps if Corporal Levi wasn't there they would have clapped, but you are satisfied with their looks of bewilderment at your uncanny and extensive knowledge of the complex device. 

"So... yeah. That should be it for a good maintenance," you announce, turning to Corporal Levi who, to your amusement, has softer look on his face; still wearing a frown, but softer than before. 

He gives you a quick glare and then turns to the group. "I hope that at least a small part of what she said has stuck in your mind. Next time I expect all of you to do it alone and not waste any more of our time." 

You aren't sure if it's time for you to walk back to your place or if you should stay there. For good measure, you stay in your spot, looking around and expecting Corporal Levi to dismiss you or at least to acknowledge your presence. Part of you even hopes he gives you a sign of gratitude.

"You can return to your group now." He doesn't bother to as much as spare you a glance. 

Not even a thanks? Rude. 

You nod and walk back to your original spot, followed closely by everyone's gaze and welcomed by Harlan and Petra's warm smiles. 

The "training session" is concluded by Corporal Levi dismissing the group to breakfast, and making perfect emphasis that everyone except you should head to the mess hall. You were expecting that he'd forget about the punishment for being a comedic genius, especially since you feel like you did him a favor. 

The room pours out of people and quickly becomes empty, leaving you, Corporal Levi and Lance Aalto behind.

Completely dissatisfied by the upcoming task and already tired out by the effort it took for you to get rid of your nerves, you blow a raspberry in response once he turns his back, making him crane his neck to the side to stare you with the corner of his eye. 

"Do you need me to lasso you to the stables as well?" 

You would have reacted with a nervous stutter if you weren't annoyed and weary. "No, sir," you reply, failing to conceal the bothered tone of your words. 

"Then why are you still standing there? Get going." He returns his sight to the front and walks away, leaving you and Lance Aalto in the room. 

"What a jerk... right?" You look at Lance Aalto as casually as you'd look at anyone, which reminds you that you should learn the military hierarchy. 

He averts his eyes and walks away in a quiet hurry. Strange, but you leave him be and walk out of the room to head to the stables that you have no idea of where they can be. 

It's going to be a  _long_ day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't hold myself back with this chapter, so I hope you don't mind 20.6 pages of text. In fact, part one was supposed to be included here, but I realized it would've been overkill to the already lengthy af chapter. 
> 
> For my observant readers, you may have noticed that I made some changes to the story. The most evident is the tense of the story, which is now written in present rather than in past. I think that it makes Dear Reader's reactions feel more real and personal compared to narrating them as if they already happened. I also removed the music from the rest of the chapters for two special reasons: 
> 
> One. The music I put on the chapters served as a way to set the mood, but I think everyone can make do with lack of it. I also feel like the big ass youtube videos look tacky and my perfectionist self could not take it anymore lol.
> 
> Two. From now on, I'll only add music to chapters that are  **IMPORTANT (!!!)**. Important in what sense? I'll let you make of that whatever you will :). 
> 
> Related to my last point, what are your thoughts on part one? I promise I didn't keyboardsmash it.   
> (: ɹǝɥdᴉɔ ɹɐsǝɐɔ ǝɥʇ ǝsn


	6. Lessons, Trust, And Learning to Trust

Source: Pinterest

Artist: Unkown

Original Source: Unknown

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Lessons, Trust, And Learning to Trust

* * *

 

Only a few minutes have gone by after you walked out of the repair room, but you're as lost as a meandering stray dog in an unknown street. It doesn't help either that you are wandering around with high hopes of the stables suddenly materializing before you, and if there's anyone with enough luck for that sort of divine intervention, then it's certainly not you.

Fate nor fortune have been kind to you lately. In fact, you have begun to harbor the surmise, albeit ridiculous, of the Walls plotting your eventual demise in their sacred, concrete confines. Absurd, but you have no other clue as to what or to whom to attribute your recent strike of mishappenings. 

Life didn't suck this bad back in ye good ole days when your biggest worry was to run out of a certain kind of nut. Funny how can it all give a 360 turn when you least expect it. 

You don't want to delve deeper into the treacherous pit of your conscience, though, as giving yourself the luxury of a moment to reminisce of your life before it all went to shit is not something you can currently afford. So you keep that thought at bay, imaginarily shoving it to the side of your mind to allow the gut-stabbing feeling of anxiety to resurface, this time rightfully so.

It's thanks to that nervousness that you are able to veer your thoughts away from the 'woe is me' internal storm and direct it instead into the 'if I don't hurry I'll go breakfastless' encouragement, finally deciding to take action. 

There are countless soldiers scooting past you, eyeing each until you settle for the next person that's about to walk by. You make a quick gesture to call their attention, voicing a 'hey' before introducing your question. 

They are kind enough to stop and greet you, listening carefully, and then instructing you with easy, clear and hand-spoken directions to the stables that, by the sound of it, don't seem that far. 

After a brief exchange of nods and courteous smiles, you thank them and make haste to your destination, nearing quicker than you initially thought. 

Your eyes are the first to register the new surroundings, taking in the slightly far-off sight of a small but long white building with big twin wooden doors.

Your feet are welcomed next, sinking little by little with each step into the now muddy and grassy ground. Bother paints your face with a grimace, both at the mushy feeling of soft and slimy land beneath you, and the upcoming additional effort you have to put into walking. 

With arms extended on either side, you give wide strides to shorten the number of steps needed to reach the stables, looking like a comical exaggeration of a cowboy walking in the process. You'd laugh if you could look at yourself, but sadly, 'funny' is the last word you would use to describe your quickly worsening predicament. 

You gag. Your hand instantly flies to your nose and mouth to shield them from the sudden waft of foul stench that you have the misfortune to sniff. It's now ingrained in your mind, forever to remain there as objectively the worst fetor you have ever smelled. Dare you guess it's a disgusting mix of horse shit, piss, animal sweat, and probably the rotting corpses of those as ill-fated as yourself that were sent before you and that never returned, consumed by the same pungent odor that you are sure is lethal. 

 _Here lies (F/n) (L/n), poisoned by the incredibly repulsive smell of shit and found dead on a pile of crap,_ you tell yourself in the privacy of your mind. You would have said it out loud if it were not for the lack of audience, which makes you wish Harlan was with you to appreciate your poop-humor.  _He would have liked that one._  

You push one of the wooden doors open, hand still firmly sealed over your nose and mouth, revealing the surprisingly pleasant interior that, after scanning for a bit, doesn't seem to lodge any deceased soldiers.

A long corridor divides the stable into two sides, both left and right with numerous stalls where only a few horses are stationed randomly. The ground is still an earthy blend of grass and dirt, though compared to the exterior this one is more firm. 

Heaving a sigh and rolling your eyes as you internally curse Corporal Levi for being an asshole, you drop your hand from your face and hesitantly breathe through your mouth. At least this way you don't have to torture your senses. 

Looking around you spot a wide shovel and a wheelbarrow leaning against the corner of the last stall to the left, and without further protest, you obediently saunter towards them to begin the labor. You pull the wheelbarrow by its handles and drag it to the front of the stall that's closest to it, then opening the wooden door and surveying the ground to spot the big, green, grassy chunks that are horse crap; scooping the handful with the shovel and dropping them on the little cart. 

Rinse and repeat with each stall, petting and babying the horses as you clean the spaces that are occupied by them. 

"Do you think that the mean scary man is an ass?" You ask the white horse standing next to you in a silly voice, still shoveling the crap. 

"Quite the ass, if I do say so myself," it answers in a neigh. 

" _What the fuck...?_ " Your head snaps up as you look at the horse with terror striking your features.

A bellowing cackle sends a sudden and violent shudder up your body, pushing also an instinctive yelp out of your mouth. You grip the shovel tightly, near and dear to you as if it were to defend you from whatever imminent danger lurks ahead. 

"Whoa, didn't mean to scare you, (F/n). It's me, Harlan," he answers amidst chuckle. 

Of course, it's Harlan. 

Your panic quickly dies off, replaced by relief. Out of anyone that could have joined you, you are thankful that it is him, despite the brief time you've known him. Though as with anyone you've just met, there's still a certain level of wariness built up in your mind, directly tied with his presence and to which actions and words you choose to allow him to witness. For instance, your more than unkind words towards Corporal Levi are not some of the things you'd openly say around him, even if this is the  _second_ occasion he's heard your unfiltered thoughts. 

In your defense, it's all fault of your subconscious for inadvertently voicing out what's in your mind. You will have to be more careful with your self-awareness, from now on, though; the Walls forbid you accidentally let an insult escape out of your lips with Corporal Levi close. Bad enough you have it with one person knowing of your distaste for the mean, angry man. 

There's no way to back down what you said, anyway. It's only logical to assume that your feelings are evident to Harlan. The only thing left for you is to attempt to downplay it. 

"You nearly give me a heart attack." Your head peers from above of the white horse's back as you glare with feigned anger at Harlan, who's standing at the entrance. "For a moment I thought that the horse could talk," you confess, scratching the back of your head and your face shifting to a softer look. 

He answers with a scoff, walking to the stall you are in. "Taking into account the world we live in, I wouldn't be surprised." 

He's now standing near the stall door, and you are able to spot a plate with food in his hands, which makes you raise an eyebrow. "Are you seriously going to eat _here_?" you ask, hinting at the vicious smell still plaguing your nose that, somehow, stopped burning your nostrils a little while before.  

Harlan looks down to the plate, jumping a little as if he had remembered something important. "Oh, no. Not me.  _You._ " He extends his hands towards you, giving you a better look of what's on it: a small loaf of stale-looking bread, what appears to be a generous serving of mash potatoes, and a single strip of bacon. 

The visage is sad, but also fleeting. 

The horse lowers its head to the plate and in a single bite, he eats its contents. 

You and Harlan stare at the plate with a blank expression adorned with slightly widened eyes. You simultaneously turn your faces to each other, the same look still draped over you two lingering for a solid minute. 

Harlan bends back as you lean forward in a fit of laughter. 

"(F/n), I'm so sorry," says Harlan, regaining his composure and wiping a tear from his eye. "I didn't even know that horses liked bacon." He pets the horse on its neck. 

"I didn't, either." You look at it and smile. "Poor guy, though. Must have been hungry." With that last phrase, your stomach grumbles, making you drop your sight to your belly as you pat it softly. "He ain't the only one."

Harlan puffs a playful cloud of air out his nose. "Yeah, I figured. Sadly, our noble steed here went ahead and—"

Before he could finish his sentence, the sound of the stable's door being pushed open cuts him off and sends both your and Harlan's pair of eyes towards the entrance. 

Your stomach twists and your chest tightens as your entire body shifts instantly to a rigid state of fear from the calm demeanor you sported not a few seconds before, just like the sudden change of the lighthearted mood to an edgy one. 

It's strange how the presence of one person can completely alter the atmosphere, although at the same time it's understandable given that said person is none other than Corporal Levi himself. 

Thankfully, his stare isn't on you or on Harlan, as it is too busy examining the ground of the stable and its stalls. Each pen is scrutinized closely, and just when he seems to be satisfied with his silent judging, he finally speaks up. "Not as miserable of a job as I was expecting." He lifts his head while he swats his hands together, getting rid of the dirt he must have touched when he opened the door.

His glare falls instantly on you, then on Harlan. "If you were so antsy about joining Cadet (F/n) in this hell-pit-smelling barn, then I would've gladly allowed it," he says, his voice cool and imposing, just as he looks at the plate on Harlan's hands, and the already unimpressed scowl deepens. "Oh, I see. Either my orders weren't clear enough or you're just that stupid." 

You aren't sure if he's talking to you or to Harlan, as Corporal Levi's eyes are glued to the plate on Harlan's hands, which makes his bitter spiel all the more nerve-wracking. The question is quickly answered, though, just when his silver stare shoots up straight to Harlan's blues, the latter boldly raising an eyebrow. 

"I hate repeating myself, but for the sake of getting it through that thick skull, I'll remind you; Cadet (F/n) was to finish her punishment before having breakfast." Corporal Levi walks closer to him with steady and slow steps. 

Your eyes jump from him to Harlan, who, surprisingly, looks nothing short of apathetic about him and his words. You notice his shoulders drawing back and his grip tightening around the plate as his jaw clenches, not matching at all the disinterested look on his face. 

"But of course, the first thing you do is to completely ignore that and smuggle a fucking plate." 

Your gaze remains on Harlan, but as curious as you are to watch his reactions, you just want to finish cleaning the last stall and leave, but just as of recently, your unlucky strike keeps gathering tally marks. Now you have to bear with whatever Harlan's inner machinations decide to push out of his mouth and then with Corporal Levi's iron-fisted tendencies. 

It's a complete shit-show, to say the least, one that you'd rather pass to eat something. 

"I couldn't just let my fellow cadet starve, sir. As a team, it's our shared duty to look out for the others," Harlan answers, a bit of snarkiness biting slightly at each of his words.

Corporal Levi stares at him with dull eyes, not eating a crumb of the complete, fire-engulfed ball of bullshit that just came out of Harlan's mouth. "I'm glad you think like that, soldier." He turns around and begins to walk to the entrance, stopping right when he reaches the door. "Set an example for the entire camp and make sure that tonight everyone at the barracks is sleeping nice and cozy. I'm sure they'll appreciate your companionship when you wake them up to check if they were having nice fucking dreams."

 _Ouch,_ you think, nearly wincing at Harlan's newly, self-sought dilemma.

"Will do, sir," Harlan answers, as nonchalant as if the man he's talking to isn't terrifying. How is he even able to speak to him like that? He either doesn't care or feels the same way as you towards Corporal Levi, minus the nerves that instantly claw against your heart whenever he shows up. 

"Also, (F/n) didn't actually get to eat because the horse ate the food, so—"

"Should've thought about that before doing what you felt like. Cadet (F/n), you can thank him for missing breakfast." Corporal Levi pushes open the door of the stable, then turns around and glares at you both. "The day hasn't even fully started and you two are already on thin ice."

He points at Harlan. " _You._ Get your ass back to the group before you fuck over yourself again." Then his eyes jump to you. "And you, put everything back to its place and follow me."

For the first time in all your while here, your brain turns its switch on instantly, and with a couple of swift motions, your right fist slams against your chest while the heels of your boots click together. "Yes sir," you say, serious but still carrying that submissive tone that is probably now signature of yours. Before you make any move, your gaze flicks to Harlan and quickly returns to Corporal Levi, feeling a little scared of Harlan's evident heedlessness from his lack of response. 

Thankfully, bossy douche clicks his tongue and walks out, taking the tension of the room with him. 

"I don't know how you manage to be so calm around him, but I nearly piss myself," you tell Harlan in a deep exhale, bending forward and resting your hands on your knees. 

The hard look on his face remains there as he glares at the door. "I just—" He stops for a second, appearing to rethink his response. "—don't like being under his command."

His answer makes you twist your head in his direction, and you could swear you just saw his eye twitch for a brief second. His reaction is strange and makes you wonder a little bit about could be going inside his mind, but it's not like you disagree with him. You don't like Corporal Levi either, and if anyone can stand up to him to bring him down a peg or two, you're not going to argue against it. Well, you are just going to give a warning not to feel guilty later.

"Believe me, I don't, either. But if I were you, I'd try to be a little more careful around him just to avoid more punishments." You'll be really disappointed if you have to say 'told ya' two times.

His body finally becomes significantly loose and his expression softens, stare sliding to you and adorning it with a little smile. "I don't mind being punished. It's totally worth it if it  _gets through his thick skull_ that I won't do what he says just because he feels above us," he says, making special emphasis on the words he mimicked from Corporal Levi. 

You nod slowly, not because you really agree with him, but just to show him you get his point. As much as you'd love to join him in his good cause, you much prefer staying out of trouble and remaining out the radar. The fewer problems you have the better, and seeing how things are going, you better take it down a notch with your accidental tomfoolery. 

"Not to be a complete pushover, but I think we should get going now." You give him a timid grin, straightening yourself up and walking to the back of the stable to return the shovel to its original spot. "We can overthrow him later." 

Harlan nods and gives a farewell pat on the horse's neck as he says, "I just hope that whatever he needs you for isn't to clean another stable. I didn't want to say anything at first, but this place stinks horribly."

You chuckle and make your way to the door. "I'd rather do this than bust my ass at the training field." You feel proud of your response, nearly tricking yourself too into believing you are familiar with the military. As you open the door, Corporal Levi is standing a few feet across with his arms entwined in an impatient stance, and he is now glaring at you. 

"Took you long enough." He drops his arms to his sides and turns around to start walking, with you following instantly. 

You mutter a _'sorry, sir'_ that gets lost in the air, and that's as much as you dare to speak in his presence. It still doesn't erase the curiosity —lest you call it fear— of why on earth does he need you for. You even start wondering if you did anything wrong without noticing; this whole ordeal has had you walking on eggshells, and who knows if you have broken one.

The scalding feeling in your stomach and throat to push out the question is deterred instantly by your dread of engaging in any sort of chat with him. Perhaps if you stare at his back long enough he'll mystically receive the message, so at it you go again with more irrational hopefulness.  It's not as if you could rely on the "rational" one, anyway, seeing that praying to the Walls has proven futile. 

He doesn't seem to be too eager to talk, either, which only adds to the awkward cloud following you both, but at the same time makes you relieved. A relief that lasts mere seconds.

Corporal Levi turns his head to the side and looks at you with the corner of his eye as he keeps walking. "I suggest you start being more cautious, especially around that guy. You've gotten in trouble  _twice_ thanks to him and I don't plan to be as nice next time his shitty behavior fucks you over as well," he warns, though you can't quite discern if he's concerned or just tired of your and Harlan's bullshit. 

You swallow hard and nod as your head drops, sight fixing to the ground. "Yes, sir." Your response is hushed and meek, nearly dissolving in the bustling air full of nature and people talking. You look and feel like a child being disciplined by her mom.

His eye remains on you for a moment and after a dismissive 'tch', he turns his head back to the front. 

* * *

 

_Play before continuing_

* * *

It's a short and quiet walk to the main building after that last interaction, though the silence is broken once you pass the enormous wooden doors. The burgundy-carpeted floors vibrate slightly with loud thuds of numerous people scooting from left to right, and you take time to fully notice it and to marvel at the dark green wallpaper. 

Urgency then hits you when you spot Corporal Levi several-feet-and-counting away from you, making you usher your pace to match his while staying behind his back. He didn't catch you slacking off, as he makes no comment or movement to signal otherwise, or at least you hope he didn't.  

The halls you are walking through are the same as those that Mr. Erwin took yesterday to guide you to your mother's office. The sheer thought of going there sends a shiver down your spine and uneasiness to your stomach. You are not entirely sure if there's where you are heading and you don't intend to ask, but if that's the case, you are willing to push aside your nervousness to deny entering. 

It's the first time since yesterday that your mother floods your thoughts again. So much has been going on that your brain had to organize itself and set priorities; grieving for her coming last and getting buried under anxious memories that it deems necessary to survive. It returns, nevertheless, the gloomy knife cutting any calmness you inadvertently got. Your chest tingling in hurt and your throat tightening when her face is summoned in your mind. 

You don't cry, though. You have the feeling, but you don't cry. All your tears were consumed two days ago when the wound was first open and her corpse was still fresh. Perhaps, now that her death has settled in, you don't cry because it's unreal. You don't believe she's gone. She can't be. It's your mother, after all. Moms shouldn't die. 

What makes matters worse, is that with her image comes chained all your memories about her. When you ate together, when she cooked, when she brushed your hair, her hugs, her smell, her words. You are reviving a softer version of what you experienced the day they told you she had died. You are disposed to forget it all if it means you'll stop wanting to join her, wherever she is. 

"Are you even listening?" Corporal Levi's distinct voice suddenly makes itself present. 

You snap back blinking a couple of times, unaware that you took a brief trip to your mind and ignored whatever he said earlier. You clear your throat and look to the ground. "Sorry, I... I zoned out for a bit." 

You hear a sigh. 

"Whatever. Get inside," he commands, hand firmly set on the door as he holds it open for you. 

Before you do, you take a quick look around, noticing that, indeed, you are in front of your mother's office. Nervousness strikes your features and you take a wary step back, staring wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape at the bright interior of the room. "I... I don't..." 

Impatience was already visible on his face, but his scowl deepens. "What?" It's a callous and indifferent question, not really interested in the reason behind your hesitancy.

"Do I _really_ have to go in there?" You dare to look him in the eye, searching for anything that could indicate a 'no', though as always, his face remains unapproachable. 

"Unless you want me to tell Captain Erwin you haven't done shit, then yes. Get in." 

Your jaw clenches and your hands begin to shake lightly. It's clear as day in the blue sparkle in your eyes that you are extremely reluctant to enter, how can he be so impassive about it? But then again, it's to be expected from someone like him. 

"Stop wasting our time." 

Fuck him, seriously. 

Your lower lip trembles, an evident signal of what's coming next. You take a deep breath and give him the hardest frown you can muster, then angrily stomp inside. Inevitably, your eyes are quick to wander around, taking in great stashes of unorganized papers littered everywhere, numerous tools laying around, and blueprints and sketches pasted against the light brown walls.

Her desk is just how you imagined, every inch scarred with scratches from her fidgeting with her tools. It's also decorated with the small, origami figurines she made whenever she got too stressed, concerningly so, as it is infested with them. 

Behind the desk is a chair with a green cloth draped on top of it. You slowly walk to it and when you arrive, you take it and hold it in front of you.  _A hood,_ you realize.

You bring it close to your face and breathe it in. 

Your heart beats faster as your eyes water. Her sweet scent is still alive and welcoming, calling you into the loving and warm embrace you lost forever. She is present in your mind and somehow in this room too. 

You bury your face in the hood, succumbing without objection to the sobs that slide out of your throat and legs giving in to the trembles that weaken them. You are kneeling on the floor, slouched and still taking in the smell that's both comforting and a reminder of her permanent absence. 

_Why not me?_

The question you've been asking yourself in silence day and night and that is now unwittingly exposed to  _him_ out of anyone else. 

The sound of footsteps approaching makes you tighten your grip on the hood, muffling your whimpers better. You can't see it, but feel a presence near you, which makes itself known by touching your shoulder with what feels like a hand. The sudden contact shakes you out of your position, sending your head up in a startled jerk. 

Turning to the left you see Corporal Levi crouching next to you, silent and expressionless, staring at you with unreadable eyes that for once do not convey coldness. He takes a moment to look you directly in the eye, then stands up slowly and offers you the hand he had on your shoulders. 

You are still sobbing, red-faced and wet on the lashes and cheeks by your tears, and despite all of that, you don't break eye-contact. 

You give a quick glare to his hand, considering to accept it or not for a few seconds. You extend yours and carefully take it, being instantly, but softly, pulled up with ease. Being just a couple of feet away from him adds to the storm of emotions raging inside of you, although you don't react to it.

"If you are going to cry, at least do it where you don't get all dirty," he says, voice calmer than any time you have ever heard him talk. His statement is quickly followed by a sigh and averting his eyes. "I hope you understand why I said what I said at the meeting yesterday."

You replay his words in your mind: 

_It's evident that you are not made for this, which only begs the question: why did you even agree to do it in the first place?_

_We'll find someone else to carry her legacy for you._

Needless to be said, you have no idea why did he say any of that other than because he felt like bullying you. You shake your head in response, dropping your gaze to the floor and wiping your face with the back of your hand. 

"I don't believe in fate or any mystical BS." He shuffles around the room, looking at the mess of papers and tools and passing a delicate finger on the surface of the desk. "What I _do_ believe in, is in people, and sometimes they need a push to do what's right." He brings his index close to his face and clicks his tongue, rubbing away the dust with his thumb afterward. 

Turning to you, he locks his eyes with yours once more and crosses his arms. "Trust yourself and show Captain Erwin he made the right choice. You weren't brought here to replace Risa, but to finish what she started." 

That sentence flicks a switch in you. 

Since you were asked to do this you have felt the weight of the world on your shoulders to be able to measure up to her. You agreed to do this thinking you were going to assume her role and become a younger version of her. Hearing that phrase shows you how wrong you were and brings light to your perspective. 

It's weird hearing it come from him, though. You thought that everything he was capable of feeling was nothing at all. It's easy to judge a book by its cover. 

"I will," you answer, your tone soft but assertive. You said it yourself; if there's anyone who will complete this it's going to be you.  _For my mom,_ you think, and this time you mean it.

"Good." He nods. "You can go around the room and check if anything is useful for the project. Commander Shadis excused you an hour of physical training."

"What will happen when I go back? Am I going to train with them too?" That's what you're most worried about, not being able to keep up with the rest and blowing the cover completely. Years of training is quite a big difference from none.

"Don't worry about it. If anyone asks about why you were gone, Commander Shadis wanted a word with you for your  _admirable_ work at the repair room." 

You nod in reply. 

"I'll come back for you in an hour. Use it wisely." He turns around and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. 

Thoughts and questions arise, but you don't let them take over your focus. Instead, you turn to the desk and place the hood back to the top of the chair. You then survey the entirety of the desktop, going over each of the origami figures. They bring a frown to your face, as you can tell that by the dozens of the paper animals she was quite stressed out. Perhaps a little too much. 

One of them calls your attention from the rest, a little skull made of white paper, that unlike the rest of the figures, has no drawn detail or shading.

You take it and turn it around to examine it. "Strange," you whisper, noticing it's not only the sole figure that's not an animal but also that there's just one of it. The rest are just numerous productions of the same animals over and over again. 

You are not a detective by any means, and deduction is not your forte, but you don't have to be a sociopathic genius to figure out that it's weird. Maybe if you look around further you'll find something related to it. 

You pocket the skull and begin to rummage through the papers that are scattered across the desk and the room, stumbling upon blood-chilling reports of soldier casualties, charts of Titan related deaths, troop count before and after a mission, and such. 

Stacks upon stacks of months worth of cold statistics. Perhaps that's the meaning of the little skull, but you aren't satisfied with your findings, so you decide to dig more. 

It takes you more than half an hour to go through the piles of documents, so feeling the remaining minutes of your free time biting at your back, you finally start opening the drawers of the desk.

The superior one to the left has an assortment of mechanical paraphernalia and a strong scent of metal. The one below has all the letters you sent her, neatly stacked in multiple lines.

You go to the drawers of the right, and as you open the one on top, a beige folder stamped with red ink reading  **CONFIDENTIAL**  catches both your eye and curiosity.

You take it and open it, skimming through the pages of the document and gathering bits of information that are relevant to the reasoning behind your mother's desire to make the new gear, but nothing else. 

Reaching the end of the folder there's a key taped to it, and before you can take it, you think twice and close it instead without pulling it out. You return the folder to the same place you found it and close the drawer, instantly followed by the door opening. 

"Time's up," a deep voice announces.

You look up, mildly startled, and realize it's Corporal Levi. You take a deep breath and walk outside. "I found something," you say in your normal tone, comfortable in the fact that there's no one around. 

Corporal Levi closes the door and begins walking away and you quickly catch up to him and match his speed by his side. 

You doubt for a moment if telling him is a good idea, or if he's even interested in hearing you out; the latter being confirmed after he turns his head in your direction and tells you to speak. 

You are a little nervous to give a long speech, but begin to, anyway. "My mom used to do these origami animals when she was stressed, and her desk is covered with them, which I found kind of concerning," you begin to explain. 

"I've never met a scout who isn't stressed." His sight is in front of him, and although it looks like he isn't paying much attention, you can tell he's listening. 

"I-I know, but that's not it. She only did animals." You carefully pull out the little paper skull out of your pocket and show it to him. "And I found this. I never saw her do one, and unlike the rest of the repeated animals this is the only one I found." 

He stares at the figure for a moment and looks at you with bored eyes. "And you think this piece of paper has something to do with the gear." 

"More or less. All the papers she has laying around are casualty statistics and reports of the Scout Regiment." You put the skull back in your pocket. "Then I found a folder in one of the drawers that said 'confidential'. The document in there is basically her explaining how certain components of the current 3DMG could be improved to mitigate the soldier death count." You start gaining more confidence the more you speak; not because you are at ease with him, but because you are talking more to yourself.

"You found a document that said confidential and you opened it?" 

"And at the end I—" before you continue, his question is fully processed. Only now you realize the gravity of your actions, clearly showing on your widened and averted gaze. "Y-yeah, I... I thought—"

Corporal Levi scoffs, finding your reaction mildly amusing. "What did you find?"

You clear your throat and try to dissimulate your embarrassed blush. "Well, there was a key taped to the back of the folder, but I don't know what is it for. I didn't take it, either. Didn't want to end up losing it." 

"Very well. I'll tell Captain Erwin about it." He opens one of the twin doors from the entrance for you to walk out. "Rejoin the group at the training field. They are doing basic exercises, and although I have my doubts, I think you can run."

Back at it again with the needless insults. Honestly, he was taking too long to say something degrading. 

You purse your lips in a half-assed attempt to smile and start walking to the training field. "Of course I can run," you mutter, frowning when you turn around. 

* * *

The rest of the day flows smoother than you expect. You give ten circles to the field per your superior's orders, ending in a sweaty, tired, and sore panting mess. 

You try to avoid Harlan and your roommates just so you don't have to explain another lie, which, of course, fails wonderfully as Harlan sneaks up on you and questions you on the matter. You tell him your own version of what Corporal Levi instructed you to say and unsurprisingly, he buys it and doesn't inquire any further. 

You are tasked with performing what seems to be infinite hours of physical torture, which you are somehow able to complete. 

Mealtime soon arrives and you and your roommates walk to and sit together in the mess hall, chatting and eating ever so casually. Up until now, you had completely forgotten you didn't have breakfast.

Hours later, the end of the day is above your heads and everyone gets dismissed to their rooms. Once together in the barracks, you and each of the girls climb on their own bed to relax. 

"Hey, (F/n)?" Nico calls from the top of the bunker bed next to yours. 

"Yeah?" You turn to her, sprawled over your bed with no shame.

She is lying on her mattress with one hand propped against her cheek while the other rests on her hip. "You killed it in the repair room. Completely shut that midget's mouth." She articulates with her hands, giving hilarious twists and swats in the air for better deliver.

You can't help but laugh at her comment and silly movements, and it feels good. "Wait, you don't like Corporal Levi, either?" 

She makes a grimace signaling a more or less response. "Eh, he's just as much as an asshole as any other higher up around here." 

"He's handsome," says Isla. 

You, Nico and Petra stare at her as if she had committed a murder. It's the first time she has spoken since you met her, making it all the more strange.

As you exchange glances, the three of you make the same "she ain't wrong, though" face. 

"Honestly." Nico nods and smirks. "I wouldn't mind giving a lick or two to that jawline." 

"Nico!" Petra falls back covering her face, furiously blushing at the thought. 

"The Walls are watching, please behave," you say, blushing as hard as Petra and earning a loud cackle from Nico. 

Your...  _not so innocent_ conversation is brought to a halt when a loud knock shakes you all. Petra is kind enough to stand up and go open the door, revealing a calm looking Captain Erwin accompanied by the mean, angry man. 

"Good night, cadets." He nods. "May we come in?" 

Petra opens the door widely and steps to the side to enter. "O-of course!"

Erwin walks in and closes the door behind once Corporal Levi is inside as well. "I'm here to inform you that there will be a new division in the Scout Regiment, beginning with the creation of a Special Operations Squad, which will be led by Corporal Levi." He extends his hand to signal him. "As such, only those who Corporal Levi deems fit to comply with the demands of the specialized group will be hand-picked by him."

His blue eyes fix on you and he gives you a brief smile. "Cadet (F/n), word of your excellence in the first training session has spread, and we have agreed to provide you with one-on-one training with Corporal Levi to ensure you're truly adept to be considered part of the group."

 _So this is where being his assistant comes to play,_ you say in your mind and pretend to be surprised by the news. 

"Of course, if you do not meet the necessary requirements you'll return to your usual training." Erwin remains in his spot and looks at everyone. "We encourage you all to train hard and give it your all if you want to be chosen. That being said, please come with us, Cadet (F/n)."

Your eyes widen and you jump down from the bunk bed, following Captain Erwin and Corporal Levi outside. Once out, you look at Captain Erwin with inquisitive eyes. "Where are we going?" 

"To your first class," Corporal Levi answers.

**_Ugh._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sick and perpetually half-asleep but it's here at last!  
> I hope you have enjoyed this chapter full of Levi, as well as the small, platonic fluff I felt so proud of. I had a lot of fun writing this one, especially the part of the stables (yes, I did laugh at my own jokes).  
> I'll let ya'll know that put myself on full sad-mode to make the sad scene feel real, so I may or may have not cried while writing lmao🤙
> 
> Hasta la pasta bitchachos.


	7. Corporal Levi's Boot, Meet This Weak Ass

_By Pixiv_

_Source: Zerochan.net_

 

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

Corporal Levi's Boot, Meet This Weak Ass

* * *

 

Perhaps if you are extra-nice with Corporal Levi for the remainder of however much time you have before he serves your ass on a silver platter in what you've been told is the 'basics of hand-to-hand combat', he'll find himself merciful enough to allow a couple of bones of yours go unbroken.

You still don't buy that "Humanity's Strongest" title everyone so feverishly applauds, but now it's time to hop on the fanatic bandwagon almost the entire camp seems to be riding, and sing him his supposedly well-deserved praises.  

You even consider kneeling down and kissing his boots, as you much rather preserve what's left of your already drained stamina; dignity is expendable now, it appears, and the idea doesn't seem as insane as your rational side insists when you arrive at a place you haven't seen before. 

Just like the main building, this one has excessively big, wooden twin doors. One of them is pushed open by Mr. Erwin as he motions at you with a swift hand to walk in, and you waste no time to do so. 

With sheepish steps, you slowly make your way inside, eyes wandering around to survey the new surroundings. It's comfortably dim; bright enough to see with ease, but still mildly dark to remind you it's night. Other than the light the numerous candles stuck to the walls provide, at the end of the room there are a couple of tall and wide windows filtering enough moonlight to bathe a small section of the area. 

To the right is a stairway that leads to a railed, tall deck, probably where spectators stand to see the fights or where superiors watch over.  

Ending your scrutiny, you lay eyes on the center of the room. A boxing ring, old and dirty looking from afar, occupies most of the space of the middle of the floor. 

 _So there's where I'll die, then,_ you take note, nodding both at your statement and at the sheer absurdity of your dilemma. On the bright side, you now have the perfect excuse to throw hands at Corporal Levi. 

You decide to have that last thought replaying in your mind to remain positive. 

"Here's where you and Corporal Levi will train from now on as part of the Special Operations Squad," Mr. Erwin announces, standing by your side with both arms behind his back and wearing a placid expression. "Although it was already discussed, I want to remind you that for the sake of the secrecy of the project, you must make quick progress to blend in with the rest of the cadets. We have been making some changes to the training schedule and program to balance the scale, and thus far everything seems to be working as planned."

You answer with a quick nod as you look at him with as much determination your gaze can convey. It's a sudden change of mood and you can't really help it, but his words have that strange effect on you. 

Mr. Erwin turns to you and offers you a couple of welcoming eyes with a soft smile. "I hope you're adjusting to this lifestyle with ease, Miss (L/n). It's not a favorable change or situation by any means, but I'm glad you're holding up better than I expected." 

His concern and understanding comment make you feel nice and warm, and as a symbol of your gratefulness, you return a little smile.

Why can't he be the one ordering you around? You'd gladly do as he says, probably even go the extra mile and do his coffee in the morning or that sort of thing. But fate works in its own, intricate and often unfair ways, sticking its middle finger at you and leaving you at the expense of a man who knows nothing but anger and indifference. 

"Give her some cookies and a cup of tea while you're at it," Corporal Levi adds. 

One could think he read your thoughts and wanted to prove your point by doing exactly what you despise about him. Truth is, that remark was both already coming and inevitable. 

Your stare jumps from Mr. Erwin to Corporal Levi, instantly shifting to a sour look you try to conceal with tightly pursed lips. It takes some additional effort not to frown, but you manage to keep the vexation inside. 

Mr. Erwin scoffs, and you're not sure if it's because he knows you're irritated or in response to Corporal Levi's statement, but he continues his speech without any bother, "Despite this currently being a guise for you to make progress under the table—" 

You don't like the sound of that.

"—the Special Operations Squad will soon become an official and active group, which means that the incorporation of other cadets is unavoidable and nearing." 

Why is good news always double-sided?

"With this in mind, I'm sure it's clear that progress is essential, as I mentioned before." Mr. Erwin gives you one of his signature, soft looks, this time not as a signal of empathy, but rather of worry. "Corporal Levi has also been granted permission to use your help for small tasks, so now you'll be able to roam around the main building with more freedom, as part of the supposed trial involves office work." 

Mr. Erwin does have exceptional prowess with elocution, evident in his fancy wording of "You'll not only have to put up with Corporal Levi's bullshit, but you will also be his slave".

You make no sound or signal of your disagreement, as speaking out against him, especially now, is not the best idea, leading you to make do with bottling everything up.

"I was also informed of your findings. First, I have to warn you not to take anything from Risa's office in the future. This is to avoid the cadets sharing room with you from asking further than what you are able to explain." 

You nod, feeling a little embarrassed at your lack of thought and not being aware of that aspect. 

"Now, with that out of the way, I know that witnessing your mother's desk in that state must have been worrisome." Mr. Erwin's voice tones down considerably, shifting to a much softer volume.

You also notice Corporal Levi's eyes suddenly flicking to him and remaining on his face with an unreadable gleam.

"That was a common occurrence before an expedition, as that event is objectively the most stressing part of a scout's life. Regarding the paper skull, it's logical to assume that it's related to the document you found. She wrote that paper with the goal of persuading the council into investing in her project." 

Hearing from him the same thought that went through your head earlier makes it sound more rational, and still, that doesn't change that it's a guess rather than a fact. You're not satisfied with the answer, yet, but for now, you'll trust Mr. Erwin's opinion. 

"It was wise of you to leave the key there. We'll investigate it and what could it possibly open. Meanwhile, focus on the project, we'll take care of the rest," he says, giving you a brief nod and turning around. "I'll leave you and Corporal Levi, now." 

His last sentence earns him a tongue-click from the angry man. 

"Finally." 

Mr. Erwin merely glances at him with cold eyes that warm up when they return to you. "Be strong, Miss (L/n)." With that, he gifts you one final smile, walks away and leaves, closing the door behind him. 

You stare at the entrance as if he were to come in again, though your trip to emotion town is interrupted abruptly by a loud clap that makes you jump. There's no trace of doubt in you that he did that on purpose; patience and feelings are not his forte, you've learned.

You turn your head to the side and watch Corporal Levi walk to the boxing ring, unsure if following him is what he wants but doing it anyway. 

"Come here," he commands as he bends down to pass through the ring's ropes around the edges, pushing one up to fit better. 

Mimicking his movements, you join him on the surprisingly soft surface. You bounce a little to test the sturdiness of the material, concluding it is, in fact, a proper ground to fall onto and not suffer a concussion. 

Few seconds go by and the stench of sweat you didn't notice before fills your nostrils and makes you gag. Your hand rockets to your mouth and nose as you frown wide-eyed at the absolute repulsiveness of the smell. Looking down, you notice questionable stains of varying colors splattered over the (probably) once white floor. The appearance makes you want to get your skull smashed against the hard pavement outside rather than touching for a second whatever the hell that yellow stain is. 

Corporal Levi stares at you, monotonous and with arms crossed. "I'm not particularly fond of this disgusting place, either, but for the sake of your physical integrity it's better to do it here." 

 _Physical integrity,_ the man says, apparently unaware that you could possibly end up with five different kinds of infections just by standing close to this crap. And honestly, you're willing to sacrifice a broken arm but  **for the Walls' sake just don't touch that yellow stain.** You can't tell him that, though, the absolute madman is capable of accepting the deal. 

"Now, hands down and pay attention." 

There's no other choice. With utmost hesitancy, you slide your hand off of your face and begin breathing through your mouth, earning an annoyed sigh from Corporal Levi.  

"Rather than going through useless explanations, I'm going to teach you some techniques. As long as you have balance, resistance, and flexibility, you'll be able to pull them off." He starts taking off his jacket, then he hangs it on the ropes of the ring. He unbuttons the sleeves from his wrists and rolls them up to his forearms. With a single hand, he also pops open the button from his neck, then pulls out the cravat adorning it and places it with extra care over his jacket.

You notice with great interest and slightly widened eyes how surprisingly toned he is. His perfectly white buttoned-up shirt fits him like a glove, accentuating some of his well-defined muscles and allowing visage of his fine collarbone. His arms, now uncovered, are slim but evidently strong just like his hands, though the latter portray more delicate features.

It's a thorough inspection that goes downhill. Your mind, as always, betrays you and dares to imagine him shirtless. Once the image is clear in your thoughts, your cheeks give it away by turning bright red and practically shouting "she thinks you're hot!". 

"Get used to it, _Miss (F/n)_ ," your name rolls out of his tongue with honeyed emphasis.

Don't get your hopes up, though, he was merely imitating Mr. Erwin. 

He continues, "You'll be seeing it often." 

Still not aware of the reasoning behind his comment, you are confused, blushing, and looking at him with furrowed eyebrows that project utter ignorance. It takes a bit to arrive, but when it does, realization hits you straight in the gut, making your eyes widen as you let a brief and high pitched yelp. 

He caught you staring at him. 

You try to explain yourself, but words get stuck with your quickening heart in your throat. You end up blurting nonsense and half-spoken words with frantic hand movements, like a complete fool. 

Corporal Levi crosses his arms and shoots you a bored look. "Save your breath. You're going to need it." 

You inhale deeply and heave a defeated sigh. No way to take back what happened, so you might as well just let it go. He doesn't seem bothered by it in the least, anyway, as he's probably more irked at the fact that you are wasting his time.

"Take off your jacket," he orders, signaling at you up and down. 

Your cheeks flare up again and a stunned expression adorns your features, which earns a tongue click and an eye roll from him. 

"I only need you to take the jacket off, not to get naked, idiot." 

Ah, he was taking too long to come up with one of those. For the first time, you're relieved to hear him insult you, as it melts away your embarrassment and second thoughts about it. Your eyes return to their normal shape and your lips press together awkwardly, sliding your jacket off at the same time. You drape it over a rope and turn to him again. 

He begins to walk closer to you, stopping when he's a mere foot in front of you. His grey eyes are firmly set on yours, probably thriving in how intimidated you look. "Extend your arms to the sides." 

You're quick to comply, shoving your gaze to the left as well. 

"You aren't one to do much exercise, I take it," he says in a quieter voice. 

Your head snaps up and you look at him with a deep scowl. "I-I... What makes you think that?" Your words come out in an offended and angry tone, making him let out a deriding puff of air. 

In the blink of an eye, you're pushed back by the shoulders. The stinging fear of falling soars up to your chest, and you instinctively launch your hands to Corporal Levi's arms. Your legs, wobbly and tired from training, shake intensely, and still, you're somehow holding up.

You then feel it, a hand on your back keeping you from hitting the ground. 

" _This_ ," he growls, sweeping one of your legs forward with his own and making you lose the rest of your balance, yet you're still being held in place by him, _awfully close_. "Is what makes me think that." He effortlessly pulls you back, almost as if you weighed nothing. 

You could notice the strength in his hand just by that movement. 

"Your body is exhausted from the physical strain you underwent earlier, but that shouldn't be a problem if your conviction to make this work is as great as Captain Erwin makes it appear." He walks back to make some space between you and him. "Interestingly enough, your arms aren't as weak as I thought. In fact, they are in better shape than those of some of the cadets." 

That's as close as he'll ever get to give you a compliment, so you better take it. But the fact that your arms are a couple of beautiful guns has to be attributed to the fact that most of your life you've carried heavy objects. Working around machines that amount half of your weight and large tools sure has its perks; fit arms, for instance. 

He turns around and gives a couple of steps away from you. He starts stretching, rolling his shoulders and opening his legs to either side, making your eyes averted. "You're still warm from training, so there's no need to stretch... unless you want to, that is." 

Moving his head to the sides, he finally walks back to you. "Show me what you've got," he says, staring at you with the same bored look he usually wears.

Your brows pull together in confusion. "What?" 

"Is the smell of this room affecting your hearing? I said, show me what you've got."

Shaking your head you blink a couple of times. "No, no, I heard you. Just... what do you mean by that?"

He rolls his eyes and sighs. If his thoughts could be displayed on his eyes, they would say something like 'I can't believe how dumb she is'. Much to your dismay, Corporal Levi is a brutally honest man, so anything that's going inside his mind will eventually find a way to his mouth. Now, for example, as he groans, "I mean: _fight me._ Throw a fucking punch or something, just don't stand there doing shit."

"W-what? Am I even allowed to hit you?" You give a couple of wary steps back. It's not that you're confused, as you're blank on what the hell you should do now. He's telling you to punch him, and although you've wanted to do it since you met him, now that you're able you are chickening away. "What if... what if I seriously hurt you? I don't want to be responsible for punching  _Humanity's Strongest_ into a coma!" 

Corporal Levi's jaw clenches worryingly hard. "The worst you could do to me is a bruise. Enough with the bullshit. Fight." 

Now you don't even know what to say, so you just stare at him with awkward eyes and parted lips. 

He lets out a deep sigh. "Fine. I'll fight you, then." 

You have no time to react to that last sentence, as when your brain finally processes it, he's walking to you at a quick pace. "Whoa... wa—" 

It happens in a flash. Your arm is twisted and locked behind your back and your shocked face is pressed against the ground, **dangerously** close to the yellow stain. It's not painful. Inconvenient and uncomfortable, more than anything, but if he were to push forward your arm any more, then it would certainly call for a scream.

You're still startled, breathing heavily and eyes as big as plates. 

He's kneeling next to you, firmly holding you in place. "Is this all you can do?" He stands up and pulls you with him, keeping you in the same position he had you pinned down. "Pathetic," he whispers, then pushes you away. 

You grab your left elbow and rub it, turning around to face him with an angry frown. "It's not. I was off guard!" 

"I don't know where the hell you have been fighting, but the enemy doesn't give you a heads-up before trying to kill you."  

Dragging your hands through your face you groan, frustrated that he won't understand despite anything you say. Then again, it's not as if you were any different in his eyes. "But that's not the point. You told me to fight you and I wasn't ready."

"No one is ever ready to fight. You either do or you don't, it's that simple," he explains, crossing his arms in the process. "The choice lies entirely on whether you want to live or die." 

 _Not that I'm particularly ecstatic for life,_ you think, looking away from him. "I... well... I mean, yes." You rub the bridge of your nose. "Why does beating someone up have anything to do with knowing how to kill a Titan, anyway?" You cross your arms as well. 

Your question seems to be ridiculous enough that Corporal Levi is forced to click his tongue and roll his eyes for the third time. "If you can't even fight off a human, what makes you think you'll stand a chance against those creatures?" 

His reasoning is not wrong, but not completely right, either. "That doesn't make much sense. It is as if you were saying that in order to take care of a wolf, I'd first need to take care of a cat." 

"And in order to take care of either, you'd need to have experience with animals." He inches closer to you, not breaking eye contact for a second. "Now, tell me: which would it be easier to take care of first, the cat, or the wolf?" His voice turns into a low snarl as his eyes search for an answer in yours. 

You tense up as he gets closer, blinking quickly for a brief moment and puckering your lips. 

He nods, examining your expression. "Exactly." 

With a swift turn, he walks back to his spot. "Now that your question has been answered and your little mouth isn't running, are you going to fight  _me_ or are you going to look for a _wolf_ to  _take care of_?" 

In his defense, you totally were asking for his condescension. Screaming and begging for it, in fact. 

You sigh. "Alright. Let's do this." You try to position yourself in a fighting stance, even if you don't have any idea about what is most suitable. Despite not knowing anything about combat, you summon all of your courage and muster it in your curling fists. A frown forms on your face, clear warning that you're putting your all in this.

He moves his feet to shoulder width, shifting his left foot to the front and lowering himself by a few inches. His left hand matches his left foot, forward and taking the lead. 

You have no clue as to why he is standing like that, but if he's doing it, then you guess it's better than whatever the hell you tried to do before. It's a simple pose and you manage to mimic it with ease, ignoring your trembling legs that are close to giving out. 

He quickly catches onto your actions, lifting his eyebrows for a millisecond. 

He's a foot or two away from you, so it'll be easy to throw the first punch and connecting it with his face. 

With a quick step forward, your left fist swings at him with all the strength you can carry.

And it happens in a blur. 

He swiftly dodges your blow and grabs your fist and twists it slightly, then turns you around to press your left arm behind your back as the tip of his index finger stabs the underside of your chin. "Dead," he announces close to your ear, pushing you away. 

You stumble and fall to your knees but hold your weight with your arms. The failure is irritating, but you saw it coming. The same scowl you had when you began is still staining your soft features and deepens by the second you lay eyes on him. 

Standing up is harder than you thought with tired legs, though you manage to do it.

"You're small, so speed is on your side. The same cannot be said about strength." He walks to you, and as he deems it close enough, he takes both of your arms and pushes them together, tapping on your elbows. "These and your knees are the best tools you'll have in a fight. They are the strongest parts of your body, so they'll make up for the lack of strength in your fists." 

He returns to his original spot, standing in the same pose he did earlier. "Try again." 

It's useless for you to attempt going against him, you decide. He knows you've never had to defend yourself, it's obvious he'll end up winning, so why take you on in the first place? Can't he just show you the techniques and be done with it? Asking those questions would bear fruitless, instead, you just keep them to yourself and prepare for whatever should come next.

You shake your arms, glaring him still. There's no way you'll hit him with a punch, as he's far too quick, and throwing your elbow or a knee at him would be impossible given the distance, you'd end up losing your balance. 

Luckily for you, problem-solving skills and logic are essential in your specialty, which help you find a way to avoid getting your arm twisted again. It's a simple plan, you have your doubts about it being successful, but it's not as if you had much ground to work on, either. You have to scrape by with your current abilities.

 _Here goes nothing._ You skip closer to him and swing your left fist to his face. Just as he leans back to dodge it, you turn clockwise and lift your right elbow, tossing it backward with all your power and hoping to hit something. 

Its momentum is cut when it connects against a sturdy surface, which surprises you, as you didn't actually trust you'd be able to do it. Your eyes widen and you turn your head to the side, seeking Corporal Levi from your behind with the corner of your eye. "Did I hit you?" comes out in an excited tone, tied to it, your lips that threaten to form a smile. 

"No." 

The joy building inside of you deflates, making you turn to the side with an annoyed scowl. "Then what did I—" You find your elbow pressed against the palm of his hand, and as quickly as you looked, he pushes it behind your back and stabs your temple with his index finger, earning a flinch and a squeal from you. 

"Dead." He lets go of you and you face him completely. "You don't stop to wonder whether or not you beat your opponent, idiot," he explains, irritation evident in his every word and the way he crosses his arms. 

A frustrated groan is at seconds of his mistreatment from escaping your throat, but despite your angry expression, you won't let him get to your nerves. Bad enough you have it without speaking out his more than well-deserved truths, and you know that rage brings the worst in you, noticeable in the little banter you created earlier without much thought of the consequences, so you just conform with glaring at him for good measure.

His eyes dissect you with nearly palpable boredom before saying, "Instead of using that anger to look at me like that, why don't you use it to actually put up a fight."

The remark makes your jaw clench and fuels your frustration.   _He wants a fight? I'll give him a fight,_ you think, frown deepening in the process.

With a quick lurch forward, you swing your left fist towards his face, missing completely as he ducks and skips to the side. 

His arms are in front of him, left fist forward and right fist inclined before his face, most likely to protect it. His chest and legs, however, are completely left uncovered, giving you the bright idea of taking another step closer and launching your right knee against his stomach, only to fail once more. 

Corporal Levi sweeps his foot against your feet, sending you down in an unbalanced fall. This time he doesn't climb over you, and you use the lack of action to rapidly stretch your hand to his foot and pull it to throw him off. 

He is too fast, though, clenching the muscles in his leg to avoid being moved even by a miserable inch. 

Your leg mimics the movement he used to bring you to the floor, pushing the back of his ankle forward. 

For a brief second, you watch the inertia of the movement tug the rest of his body along to his eventual demise, but much as you expected, he manages not to smack face-first against the floor by rolling to the side, giving you enough time to scatter to him and climb on his back as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

 _He smells nice,_ you suddenly note, but return your focus to his speedy reactions with a shake of your head. 

Still on kneeling position, he holds his weight with both hands on the ground as he swiftly shifts to the side, shoving one his legs behind yours. The immediate movements are followed by him slipping his hands to your thigh and pulling it, clawing you away from your grip and slamming you against the floor.

He crawls above you and tightly secures your hips with his knees on either side as he grabs both of your wrists and pins them above your head.

You thrash and squirm under him, frantically looking for a free spot to escape, but it seems that with each movement his grasp becomes stronger. "I'm... not... done, yet," you groan between heavy panting. 

"It seems to me you are," he says, spectating your mildly bemusing display of puny efforts. 

In one of your brisk attempts to twist, your head turns to the side, facing his forearm next to you, and with it, occurs to you probably the worst idea fitting to your desperation. You look up to meet his forearm completely. Without thinking it much...

...you bite him. 

It's enough to distract him and make him retract his arm with a painful hiss, providing you with a precious opening to swing a punch at his face. 

You realize by his expression that you took him off guard, but his surprise doesn't last long and he grabs your fist mid-air, pushing it down to your side as your other arm is still firmly placed above you. 

"Don't even think of biting me again," he warns, inching closer to your face to intimidate you, though, for the first time, it doesn't work. 

You're far too riled up now to give a single fuck. "What? Are you going to bite me back if I do?" The scalding wrath in you perceivable in your voice and in your fierce glower at him. 

And that's exactly why you've been so careful of keeping your mouth shut and your anger in check. Your usually timid and calm demeanor can be morphed into a bold and irritated character in a matter of seconds with the right amount of rage poisoning your thoughts, and it just appears he possesses the right formula to tick you off. 

"Big words for someone in your position, don't you think?" He pushes you down with a sharp and forceful shove. 

"For someone at a perfect biting distance, I don't," you counter, wincing at the sudden jostle but never taking your eyes away from his. For once, his stare doesn't inflict upon you as much as the strong desire to keep glaring at him, even if it means you'll stay pinned against the floor like this. 

He lets go of one of your arms and moves his index finger ever so slowly, dragging it to the middle of your collarbone. 

"Don't say it," you bark and try to smack away his hand. "Don't fucking say it."

He stares at you in taunting stillness for a moment.

"Dead."

You groan and grab his wrist, pulling it with all your strength but bearing no results and giving up on the third try, leaving you a heaving mess.

Silence then befalls the room like a blanket thrown in the air. Save for your hasty breaths coming and going in and out of your mouth and your erratic pulse, everything else is consumed by quietness, including Corporal Levi, who remains unfazed and without any sign of the previous exertion. 

You take your time to carefully inspect his stare, and he seems to do the same, as he remains in his mighty place above you and still clasping your wrists and going over every crevice and detail of your face with perfect and newfound attention.

Beginning with your forehead glistening with small beads of sweat, sliding down to your brows tightly knit together; then to your eyes, where he stalls a bit, perhaps to properly determine their color. His study follows your nose, and finally, lands on your parted lips, remaining there for a couple of questionable seconds. 

_What?_

He quickly stands up, walking away and patting the dust off of his clothes. 

"You are a quick learner, I have to give you that." He crosses his arms as he returns to stare at your figure still lying on the floor. "Now that I have some insight into your movements, I'm going to teach you some actual techniques." 

Meanwhile, you're yet staring at the roof, trying to process the previous exchange of... whatever the hell that was. Even though you're tempted, you know that pondering about it will eventually provoke a flood of sordid thoughts you dare not to delve too deep into or touch at all, for that matter. There are some urges, of course, that cannot be helped, and you're afraid that years of solitude will wrench them out of your heart and expose them. 

You blink a few times and try to stand up before your mind decides it's a great time to spiral down in an infinite loop of contemplation. As you push yourself up, your legs rattle with intensity and quickly bend down, not able to hold your weight any longer. 

"Tired already?" Corporal Levi raises a skeptical eyebrow at you. 

On all fours, you glare daggers at him and his comment. You have yet to get used to his diatribes despite being aware that he speaks them to spite you. But perhaps that's part of the reason he  _does_ get a rise at you, as you don't understand why he does it at all. You kind of feel better thinking that he's like that to everyone.

Staring at him, you attempt to stand up once more, only to fall back to your knees. 

His cold gaze remains on you, observing carefully your miserable display of pettiness. 

In silence, he continues watching you force your exhausted body to hold your weight. Maybe the thought of you hoping to defy his expectations is entertaining to him and that's why he keeps staring, or perhaps he is just entertained at your trembling legs and how they aren't able to stand firm. Either of those notions is enough to fuel the cattiness that's been keeping you from having another breakdown. 

Once more, you try. 

And you drop back down.

"Enough." He walks to you and grabs your arm to help you up. "You're going back to your quarters and get some rest."

But you push him away with unmeasured force and instead, you hold yourself by the ropes and lean against them once you rise from the floor. As you finally are able to be on your feet, you prop your back against them to take off as much weight as possible from your legs. 

Your eyes land on him again. "Let's get on with it, then." It's a bitter and razor-edged utterance that you hope is enough to exude your desire to prove wrong everything he thinks about you. However, as bold and ferocious your actions may appear, you're now venturing into a dangerous phase where your words and movements are governed by anger alone. 

You are not thinking through, and the only filter you currently own is ire. It's a short fuse you must fix; one that is now too late to do so. 

"Willpower alone is not enough to do shit," Corporal Levi says, glaring down at you. "Look at your damn legs." He points at the couple of feeble, quivering limbs. "Can you even feel them?" 

What's his deal? First, he was giving you shit because he deemed you too weak to do anything. Now, he is giving you shit because you're going to show to him you aren't. 

"I thought you wanted me to prove my conviction," you snark, still hanging against the ropes. 

He is a foot or two away from you, and it's enough distance for him to reach to the hem of your shirt and grab it, pulling you towards him and bringing your face inches apart from his. "Can you even stand by yourself?" His voice is low and snarled, accompanied by an irritated frown. 

Your hands instantly fly to his, gripping them tightly, though your brain can't decide whether you want to shove him away or secure your grasp on them to avoid falling. It's a quick choice, as anger can make up one's mind faster than anything else, so you'll take your chances with the first one.

"I can." With a strong push against his hands, you stumble backward a couple of steps, nearly touching the ground with your knees, but managing to maintain some balance and prevent your legs from bending. 

His eyes widen by fleeting microseconds, then he nods slowly. "Very well." With a wide step in your direction, he tilts his head to the side and offers your sight a new kind of stare; one that carries a savage and eager glint, and makes you regret your heedless decision instantly.

"Lesson one starts now." 

 

* * *

 

Lying on your bed with no sensation whatsoever in your body neck-down, you finally realize that standing face to face against Corporal Levi and then make the astute choice of still get taught a hand-to-hand combat technique, all with worn-out flesh and bones is objectively the worst idea anyone could ever dare to come up with. 

He was kind enough to go considerably easy on you, given your physical state. Or at least that's what you think since his ass-kicking didn't hurt as much as you believed it would. 

One could even consider it merciless, though, as when the lesson began, every ounce of effort you were investing it in keeping yourself on both feet, and he still didn't bat an eye when you couldn't stand up. It inevitably came to a point where kneeling was impossible too and despite that, Corporal Levi refused to let you go if you didn't manage to pull off the movement at least once. 

_"You wanted to keep going? Then we'll keep going"_

It's your fault, anyway. Your anger and pettiness consumed you and led you to do something that you now regret.  _Really_ regret. 

You have no idea if a night of sleep will be enough to rest your body enough to even walk. You highly doubt it, but much like tonight, you doubt you'll have the choice to refuse. 

However, as the recollection of earlier's events keeps playing in your memory, only now, with rage completely purified from your mind, you recognize that he was, in fact, giving you the opportunity to leave early and rest. It's hard to swallow that detail, even harder when you are so eager to blame him for your misfortune, but it's the truth. 

You thought that he was just taunting the condition of your legs, pushing you to give in and leave, which would mean that his low expectations about you were going to be met. All when he was merely stating the obvious and being the reasonable voice in the room, yet your ill temper, as ever since you were a child, got the worse out of you. 

You'd take your pillow and muffle the frustrated scream that wishes to come out, if only you were able to move your arm in the first place. And as bigger rues continue to arrive, your aggravation grows without measure. 

You remember the way you spoke to him, how you defied his authority with dumb comments that had the sole purpose of making him angry. Not one of your remarks worked, which confuses you and makes you worried and relieved at the same time.

Then, also comes the part when you bit him. 

And when you stared at him as he took off his jacket.

As well as when you got in the little argument of the importance of hand-to-hand combat in the field. 

Out of all your attempts to get back at him, none of them bore any results. You'd count his reaction to being bitten, but who wouldn't be pissed after suddenly getting their arm munched? You haven't found what makes him tick, and although you don't plan to engage in another debate or fisticuffs with him, you still can't help but panic at what awaits for you tomorrow from him. 

It's hard to make a guess, as reading him seems impossible and usually, you just end up concluding he is either pissed or bored, there's no in-between. Corporal Levi is a strange man, there's no doubt about that. Though, for someone who always seems angry, aside from his words, the rest of him and his character never seem to be tinged with that emotion. He is an avid user of colorful language, which paints his comments to be more aggressive than they actually are. 

He's absolutely confusing, to say the least. And terrifying. 

Uneasiness was already brewing in your chest, but just thinking of his reaction tomorrow increases it...

...but that's it. Enough with the overthinking, you decide, tired of torturing yourself and begging your mind to leave you alone. It's an utter mess of emotions battling inside of you, mainly nervousness that never ceases to bite behind your head, and you intend to put an end to it.

With a deep —and painful— breath, you hope to ease and organize your thoughts.

You take another one, feeling the weight of today's demands craddle your body and it's exhaustion, numbing your limbs in blooming calmness.

And after that, another one slips in, this one hooks your lids and makes it harder for you to keep your eyes open.

Then, the last one. Met with an exhale that takes you to slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feliz navidad bitchachos. And a happy birthday to our dear Captain Levi. 
> 
> For my masochistic peeps reading this chapter, I hope at least you were satisfied with the woop-ass you took lmao.


	8. Fifth Day Prelude

 

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Fifth Day Prelude

* * *

 

You're shaken awake. 

Your eyes snap open, half-lidded and dumbfounded, looking around with panic-stricken movements around the dark room. You sit, rubbing your eyes to get rid of the sleep-plagued sight that makes it harder to see. 

"Hey," someone whispers, awfully close to you, but you can't spot them with the haziness in your gaze and the pitch black of your surroundings.

"It's me, Harlan." His voice sounds excited, almost as if he is about to burst out laughing. Although you can't still pinpoint his exact location, you can tell he is next to you, as he holds your arm. 

Why is it always him when you least expect it? 

"Harlan?" you croak quietly as you squint to the side, where you suppose he is. "What are you doing here? It's really late." A yawn rolls out of your mouth, chained to it, your hands that rub the leftover tears from your eyes.  

You guess this is a good time as any to pay heed to Corporal Levi's advice. This will probably be the first and only occasion where you'll fully admit that he's right. Harlan does seem to be a magnet for trouble, something you can't afford with your current situation, and it'd be sad if you'd have to steer clear from him. 

Then again, what could be so important —or not at all— that he felt the need to come to your room and wake you up?

You hear him muffle his laugh. 

"Remember back at the stables? Corporal Levi apparently wasn't joking," he mutters. "He came to my room a while ago, pulled off my blanket and told me to begin with my punishment." 

It takes a moment for your brain to fully process what he just explained, audible in your groaned 'huh?' that's quickly replaced by an elongated 'oh'.  

He probably can't see your face either, but if he could, he'd see a couple of furrowed brows, droopy eyes that threaten to surrender back to sleep, and agape lips that display nothing but weariness. 

"Well, I don't remember anything about my dream," another yawn interrupts your sentence, and you continue, "I think I was too exhausted to even have dreams." You finish with a throaty but soft chuckle. 

He shifts around quickly, almost as if taken off guard. "Oh, yeah!" His voice raises in volume and you are forced to hush him by repeatedly smacking his arm with light pats. "Sorry, sorry," he chortles as the whispered tone returns to dress his words. 

"It's just that I remembered I was told you got chosen as the first member of the Special Operations Squad." Harlan puts a hand on your head and ruffles your hair, earning a faint giggle from you. "Congrats, missy." 

If only that "accomplishment" was deserving of praise. For someone who's none the wiser in regards to what goes on behind the tale you've been forced to build, you guess that admiration is in place for the "opportunity" you've been given. You wish you could just talk freely about it, but Mr. Smith and Commander Shadis have both made it pretty clear that not a word of the project must touch your tongue, and you don't intend to betray the trust you've been granted anytime soon. 

You nod your head in response and mumble a 'thanks' under your breath. 

"And how did that go? Heard that Corporal Levi tested you or something like that." He drops his hand to himself.

 The first thing that manages to escape your mouth after his question is a groan. You consider for a couple of seconds if telling him about it is a good idea, but you guess that humoring his distaste for that man with a brief retelling of what happened doesn't hurt anybody. You would have told the girls earlier, anyway, but when you arrived everyone was already asleep.

"It was a nightmare. I'm pretty sure that he has my legs as a trophy on his desk," your voice gains a colorful tinge that threads each word with emotions. "I seriously can't feel them. I wouldn't be surprised if I looked down and they weren't there." 

As your eyes accustom to the darkness, you can make out Harlan's figure pressing a hand over his mouth as multiple attempts to laugh quietly manage to pour through his fingers. "Was it  _that_ bad?" 

"All I can say is that you should never try to take on Corporal Levi. Let alone be as dumb as me and challenge his authority," you mutter in embarrassed dullness that last part as you shake your head. 

But Harlan heard it. He bends back and makes a stifled howling sound tied to a chuckle. "(F/n) herself showing Corporal Levi how's it done? That I'd pay to watch." 

You shake your head again and bury your face in the palm of your hands. "I think I may have stepped out of line." Quite the understatement you got there. 

Harlan takes both of your hands as if they were those of a porcelain doll and brings them down to uncover your face, searching for your eyes with his own. "No, no, that's good. If a feisty little missy like you has the guts to stand up to that guy, then I'll be glad to be the backup." He squeezes them gently and gifts you a comforting smile that you can't help but reciprocate. 

"I certainly wouldn't mind teaming up against him, y'know?" you answer with a snicker, even if your comment isn't entirely a joke. "But I can't let you go through what I did. I would have no one else left to bring me breakfast when I pick up horsecrap, then."

With the help of the dim and heavily diluted moonlight that barely manages to filter through the curtains, you are able to watch his beam widen. It may be the lack of light in the room mixed with your mind still being in a mild daze, but you think that he has quite a nice smile, pleasant enough for you to get fixed on it for a moment. 

You then realize, later than it would've been convenient, that your eyes are still on his mouth, flickering it away before he gets the wrong idea. 

"Gosh, I'm so sorry about that." He drops his head and shakes it, but you can sense that his smile is yet to be erased from his features. "I owe you breakfast." 

"Breakfast is already granted for tomorrow morning." You make emphasis on your statement by letting go of one of his hands and raising a finger in the air. "So if you  _really_  want me to forget about you feeding the horse my precious and probably centuries-old loaf of bread, then you're going to have to redeem yourself with something else."

Harlan's eyes widen, taken back by your unexpected declaration, but his shocked expression quickly melts off into a sly smirk and taunting eyes. "Ah, so missy (F/n) really  _is_ a mischevious soul." He nods, moving closer to you are until but mere inches apart from his face. "And what would that  _something_ be?" His voice takes a lower tone, nearly coming out as a husky growl that weakens your confident wall. 

Your answer gets stuck in your throat, only replying with a quick blink and your heart hastening its beats that taint your cheeks with warm pink as well. You rely on the lack of illumination not to give away your nervous expression, but all hope is lost when a throaty laugh dances to your ears. 

"Cat got your tongue?" he hisses, each word drenched with impish intent that shines on his couple of crystal blues too, and that seem to be reeling in closer to yours. One could think that he has you hypnotized, as no sound is able to slide out from your mouth the nearer he gets.

It's only obvious to assume he has already caught on to your sheepish bearings and is exploiting them to their fullest. You're solely capable of remaining frozen in place and allow your instincts to take over. These part your lips in a thin gape and redirects your eyes to his ever-growing smirk. 

Pouring in all your effort into your speech, you _try_ to say, "I... I think so..." But his carny smile, with teeth as perfectly aligned as a military cemetery, is far too consummate to look away; or thinking straight, for that matter. 

And it is now, in the least expected moment, when the image of Corporal Levi exploring your face a few hours ago pops in your mind. 

Your eyes widen and your blush becomes deeper and increasingly balmy. You cover Harlan's face with both hands and gently shove him back as you chuckle your nerves away. "S-stop looking at me like that." 

The sensation of the hot air escaping from his mouth in a fit of muffled laughs damps your palms with warm steam and sends a shiver down your body, and for the first time, it isn't a sign of fear. 

"It's not my fault you're cute," he speaks against your hands, but immediately grabs your wrists and pulls them to either side, allowing himself to look at you again. He lowers them and sets them on your knees, retracting his hands and scratching the back of his head as his eyes avert from you. "I think I may have gotten too carried away."  

Before you can add some reassurance, a distant 'what the hell?' croaked from your right snaps you both back to reality, sending your heads in a fast whip to the side. The voice is anchored to the sound of rustling and shifting inside covers. It's impossible to discern who it is speaking as the poor moonlight only allows you but a few feet of semi-clear vision.

"Harlan? Is that you?" the same voice asks, a clear giveaway of it belonging to Nico. "The fuck you're..." her sentence is slowly silenced by what seems to sound like her moving closer to watch what is going on exactly.

A quiet gasp begins her new speech, "Harlan, what the hell are you doing? Get down from there, dumbass." Urgency is evident in her hurried voice. "You're going to get (F/n) in trouble. _Again."_

You and Harlan look at each other briefly and burst out laughing quietly. 

"It's okay, Nico. He just came to check if I was having nice dreams," you explain as you glance at Harlan, getting a groan from her. 

"Bullshit. Don't make me go over there and push the bug off of your bed, (F/n)." 

"No, seriously! Remember what I told you at dinner?" Harlan adds. 

There's a small moment of stillness before Nico speaks again. "Are you seriously doing that shit? I thought it was a joke." 

And so did you, Harlan, and the rest of the cadets that were woken up previously, yet here he is, making sure everyone is counting sheep peacefully. You can't say you're surprised, though, something as ridiculous as this is to be expected from Corporal Levi. 

"Well, I need to leave now. I think I spent here longer than I should have." He shoots you a fleeting glimpse before climbing down from your bed. "Nino, can you tell your other two friends that I came? Corporal will make sure tomorrow that I checked on everyone. Make them pretend I did wake them up, please." 

Nico sighs. "Yeah, yeah. Get your ass out of here." 

You'd be lying if you said that those two aren't hilarious together. Having no siblings makes you wonder if that's how most of them get along. 

"Thanks, Nino." He walks to the door, but before he reaches the door, he turns around and looks at you. "(F/n), dream of me." It's too dark to make it out, but you know that he just winked. 

As if on cue, you and Nico take your pillows and throw them at him, ushering him to scoot out of the room. 

You two remain seated on your beds, and before either of you can say anything else, you turn to her. "Nino?" you taunt.

"He couldn't say Nico when he was little." 

You nod. 

"Alright, goodnight...  _Nino."_

 _"_ Shut up...  _missy."_

A pair of giggles are the last thing the room hears before falling silent for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all I have to say.


	9. Cipher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pull out your magnifying glass, wear your detective cap, and call Watson to assist you in this chapter. 
> 
> Pay close attention to your mother's letters. She had a few important things to say.
> 
> Good luck! (Remember to click/tap the links!)

_Source: Pinterest_

_Artist: Unknown_

 

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Cipher

* * *

 

It was a hasty and frantic morning before arriving at Corporal Levi's office. You woke up early for once, not exactly for the right reasons, but the achievement is still worth recognizing. That doesn't mean you'll admit that you just wanted to be at his office on time to downplay the scene you made last night with a little discipline you are sure he knows you don't have. You also wanted to apologize to him, although you weren't sure if the verve to do it was enough.

You barely had a moment to talk with the girls, but you managed to tell them just how much of a nightmare Corporal Levi is, making special emphasis with the violent shaking of your legs when you walked, as well as the pained groans whenever you crouched or as you tried to put your pants on. 

After your brief exchange with your roommates, you  _tried_ to usher to the main building, but your legs could only offer you stunted steps that shot excruciating pain through them whenever your feet made contact with the ground. You walked with a limp and no support, so getting to Corporal Levi's office was more of a hard task than you originally had imagined.

It didn't take you long, though. In fact, you arrived at his door when he was just about to enter, which made for an awkward exchange of stares. 

He noticed you instantly when you appeared at the entrance of the corridor, merely glaring at you, face completely monotonous and mouth shut. 

You supposed that if he was more than eager to snap your body in half last night, he wouldn't be too keen to greet you. Because of this, you took it upon yourself to begin with a meek 'good morning, sir' with averted eyes that he answered with a short moment of silence as he fuddled with a set of keys, probably trying to figure out which one belonged to his office.

When he finally found it, he gave you a fleeting stare and quickly returned his eyes to the door. Before he pushed it open, he said, "Did you crawl your way here?" With that, he entered and left it open for you to come in as well. 

You answered with a roll of your eyes you made sure he hadn't noticed and remained silent even until now, as you wait for him to explain the schedule for today, but he's taking his sweet damn time pulling out his chair from the desk and organizing the stacks of papers on top. 

As he finally decides to take a seat, he, instead, gifts his focus to the top of his desk, skimming the documents lying there and not once regarding your presence. His quietude is unsettling, and you can't help but feel that it's the result of last night's events. 

So you stand there, completely still and expecting. It's a great opportunity to say you're sorry for blowing up, but you feel your mouth completely sealed with no chance of ever opening. What if he's just waiting to tell you that you'll no longer work on the project because of your insubordination? Or what if he is plotting his revenge for the bite?

You pretend to be interested in the surroundings of the strangely pristine office, staring at the immaculate floor, then at the walls, then the crystal clear window, the couch, and whatever object that it's not him. You can't bear to look him in the eye, you feel that if you do you'll probably be set ablaze by the sheer intensity of his glare. 

 _Could he be waiting for me to speak?_ you think, and a wave of dread washes through your chest. You can barely contain the hasty beats of your nervous heart as it is, you can't really imagine what would it be like to dare and say a word.

However, the guilt of your actions is eating you alive and outweighs the anxiety of talking to him. 

You know that you won't be able to sleep if you never apologize. Last night you were just lucky that your body and mind were completely exhausted to put you through another spiral down regret lane. Tonight, you can't be sure it'll be the same. 

Without thinking it through as you accustom, you mutter, "I'm sorry, Corporal Levi." This is enough to light your cheeks red and to send your gaze down to your shoes. You rub your arm in hopes of alleviating the nerves, but it's not as useful as it seems. 

There's no reply. 

Your mind starts blaring alert sirens, and all you can think of is that you fucked up. 

"What was that?" he asks. Although you are not looking at him, you feel his stare is now on you. 

You bite your inner cheek hard enough to pluck up more courage and lift your face to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry... for last night." 

He inspects you with the same uninterested glint dressing his gaze permanently, making it impossible to read what the hell is going through his mind. "You're sorry for what?"

You're not sure if he wants to humiliate you further by listing all your wrongful actions, or if he is asking out of genuine confusion. But judging by the tone of his voice, you'd like to think it's the latter. 

It's hard enough to say sorry, let alone retell what you're so avidly trying to forget, but it seems that there's no other choice. With a deep breath, you begin, "For exploding like that and... and biting you, and standing up to you, and just being a complete moron." 

There, you said it, though your answer does not seem to have satisfied his question, as he stays hushed. At least for a moment while he goes over your features.

"Apology not accepted," he says, returning his view back to his documents. 

Your brows furrow and your lips part in shock. You weren't really expecting him to let this go sooner or later, but to straight out reject your apology? Now that is something you were truly unprepared for.

"Being a moron is not something you apologize for." He doesn't spare you a glance and just keeps reading the papers he has just taken in his hands. "It's something you have to change." 

As unpredictable as the changing wind he is. A box full of surprises for the better or for the worst. That man could look at you as if you were next on his hit list, and end up just stating that the weather is nice today. 

Sighing and closing his eyes for a moment, he pushes back his chair and stands up. He sets down the papers and fixes his gaze on you as he leans over his desk. "Anger is one hell of a drug and so are nerves. You either control them or let them take over you." 

His comment makes your cheeks turn bright red again, as well as lead you to look down at your shoes. Remembering your last night's behavior is embarrassing, even more so when he's not even pissed and just lecturing you about it like a parent would to a child. 

"You can't even look at me without shitting yourself or wanting to rip my head off. What do you think that means?" 

As if his statement had fallen upon you like a spell, your eyes slowly slide up to his face and you bite your inner cheek. It stings your ego that he is right.

Regardless, he can stop psychoanalyzing you anytime, now; he's only telling you something you already know, although you guess that hearing it from someone else —especially him— does have a different effect compared to just realizing it in your mind. 

"Emotions can't have a say in your actions in this place. Just look at where that led you." He flicks his hand towards your legs and you look at them. "Take of this what you will. In the end, you can be your own downfall as much as your victory.  Just don't bite my fucking hand again."

Your face twists in a blushed grimace. "I won't, I swear." At least until he pisses you off again. 

Then, again, you dohave to work on your temperament. So far you've only achieved to fuck yourself over not once, but _twice_ because anger management is not your forte by any means. You'd point fingers and blame him for wanting to get a rise at you; you're merely reacting to his provocations, after all. But that's not what adults do. 

It's not like he's wrong, either. You know to give credit when credit is due, although recognizing his good intent is hard with the cryptic expression he permanently sports. 

"I'm inclined to not believe you, but we'll see." He gives you a single nod and walks away from his desk and to the entrance. He beckons to you as he exits the office, now with you tailing him. 

"Today you will finally be able to actually work on the project. Captain Erwin said something about some letters, so I suppose that's important," he explains.

You quicken your pace to walk next to him and nod, dodging the flood of people walking by. "Yes, they are becau—" 

"I don't need to know anything else," he says through nearly gritted teeth and shoots you a side glare. 

His reaction seems strange at first, given that he's the one overseeing your progress and basically being in direct contact with you and the project. But then, it only seems obvious. He's referring to the countless onlookers scooting past and forth next to you both. 

Your confused expression shifts to a couple of wide, knowing eyes as you hiss in realization. "Oh, yeah. Sorry."

He sighs and shakes his head. 

The route he's guiding you through is the same as that to your mother's office. You still haven't come to terms with spending even the smallest fraction of time in that place, though you are not exactly in the position to voice any objection. Discontent towards whatever he has in mind will have to remain just a thought. 

It's a silent trip, and you arrive quickly at the door of the condemned office. This part of the building is strangely isolated, which allows you and Corporal Levi to speak in normal tones and without extreme caution. 

He inserts a key in the doorknob and twists it, then pushes it open. "You've been granted two hours to do whatever you have to do. When you're done, put everything back to its place and don't take anything, understood?" 

Swallowing hard at the sight of the office you nod. "Understood." 

"It better be." He starts walking back in the same direction you came. "Two hours," he says, back facing you as he raises his hand to sign the number two with his fingers.

You look at him one last time before you enter and close the door behind you. With a deep breath, you try to forget the nerves poisoning your thoughts and step closer to the desk, where one of the suitcases you were carrying when you first arrived at HQ is sitting on, carefully placed next to the origami figurines. 

That's where you packed the letters. 

* * *

_Play before continuing_

* * *

If you are going to begin actually working on the project, you first will need to study all the context surrounding the components of the mechanism itself. You already read the document stating the countless reasons for its creation, but that's not enough to start gathering the tools and materials required. 

More specifically, you need the blueprints and a little instruction, and you know exactly where to find them. 

You take the suitcase and sit on the floor. Opening it, you see the letters neatly folded and organized inside. They are not stacked in a particular order, so it's anybody's guess which dates you'll stumble upon first and last. 

You randomly take one, and as if you were holding the wings of a butterfly, you unfold the tan parchment and begin reading it. 

[Letter one: July 13th, 843](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/56/76/5e/56765eb60d5309238f4621c945c0e7f9.jpg)

Such a charmer with words she was. It reminds you of Mr. Smith in that aspect, always so formal and knowing exactly which words to use, when, and with whom. 

Just imagining her voice saying those loving sentences is enough to make your lips quiver in a puckered smile. You will never listen to her again.

It doesn't make sense, yet, it feels impossible to admit she is gone. 

You sniff and wipe the tears beginning to build up in the corners of your eyes, you don't want to ruin the ink of the letter. 

You fold it close and place it next to you, then proceed to take another one from the suitcase. 

[Letter two: January 7th, 844](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/73/db/f2/73dbf2a85bb3bf85083c85a580e3977f.jpg)

Your expression instantly molds into a shocked couple of eyes and grimacing lips. Did she seriously try to play matchmaker between you and Corporal Levi? What the hell did she even mean by having a  _good hunch about it_? 

You'd first drop dead in the spot rather than ever dating that masochistic grumpy-pants. She even dared to compare you to him. Him! Out of anyone else, she had to choose that grey-eyed bastard. 

After cursing and arguing silently how much of a better person than him you are, you connect a couple of dots you nearly miss. 

The date of the letter is January 7th of the current year, and according to your mother, Corporal Levi joined just a few days prior to that. Today is April 11th, which means that Corporal Levi is just a mere four months fresh into the Scouts. 

"Damn," you whisper confused. You are no military expert, but you are sure that one cannot become corporal after four months of service. Then, again, your mother did say he has incredible abilities, but you highly doubt they are worth the complete disregard of the ranking hierarchy. 

You decide you'll ask Corporal Levi later  _if_ you manage to pluck up the courage to do so. You two seem to be on good terms now, so you suppose it won't hurt asking. 

Folding the letter and placing it on top of the first, you reach for another. 

[Letter three: February 3rd, 844](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/b5/34/ac/b534acfe6651d8d775ba113ac7e8607b.jpg)

This one is strangely different from the rest. It almost seems she was stalling, considering the wording she chose. But that is not precisely the reason you find it weird. You can't quite put your finger on it, but you know there's more to this than what she made it appear. 

She was a woman with terrifying intelligence, uncharacteristic of her to structure her writings in such a strange fashion. You wouldn't really digress, but you can't spend the entirety of the two hours offered to you attempting to solve a puzzle that's probably not even there. 

 _On to the next,_ you think. 

[Letter four: February 24th, 844](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/7c/d9/65/7cd965831e5096eb3e246d68a8f81a47.jpg)

You can almost hear a record scratching in your head. If the previous letter seemed mysterious, this one definitely takes the cake. It's a second letter in a single month, never had you received two letters in such a short span.

With eyebrows furrowed, you go over it once more. 

Its contents can only mean that whatever was aggravating her previously, became overwhelming enough for her to finally break the serene character she tried to put up. This makes you wonder,  _For how long did she pretend to be alright?_

If you were to make any guesses, you'd say, at least, a couple of months taking into account the massive accumulation of origami figurines on her desk. 

You also ask yourself if her memory began wavering because of the stress she was put under, as, not once, you requested a code for a safe (if there's even one). 

"What the actual hell." You stroke your chin thoughtfully. "Something was definitely off." 

[Letter five: March 11th, 844](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/22/f9/3d/22f93d88b9cb625ec9b2190c51b63403.jpg)

Your frown deepens and your heart starts beating faster. You know this letter. And you hope against hope that the next is not the one you think it will be. 

 _Focus,_ you tell yourself, shaking the nasty thoughts away as you begin analyzing the paper.

"What is all this scribbling?" You read every dash and dot sprinkled around the text. Sure, your mother had her own strange quirks, but even this is a little weird for her. 

"It doesn't make any sense," you groan. You are tempted to drag a hand over your face in frustration, though you refrain to fall at the mercy of such a weak emotion. If you want to figure something, anything out, patience is key. 

You pray that the next information is more useful. 

As you put away the letter, you take another from the suitcase and unfold it absentmindedly. 

[Last letter: April 6th, 844](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/4c/79/ec/4c79ec39789fa86f82abb449a4b72760.jpg)

You freeze. 

The last letter you received from her.

Written a day before they told you she was eaten.

They couldn't retrieve the corpse. All that was left of her was a splatter of her own blood on this paper. 

You've imagined it, her death. From which angle did the Titan bite first. The sound of bones being crushed under enormous teeth. If she screamed and cried. How much must have hurt. The agony. 

You've imagined it so much it has even become a casual thought for you to have. So much so that it calls for no tears. Or at least not for now. 

Before your heart decides otherwise, you fold the letter with hurried but delicate movements and set it aside. 

"You can't let emotions take over you, (Y/n)," you repeat the wise words of Corporal Levi. With a deep breath, you clap your hands and stand up. "Let's search for those blueprints." 

 

* * *

 

It took you a while but you found them. The thoughts of the previous letters you read were more than distracting, more than once you nearly reached out for them to re-read them in case you could somehow manage to crack whatever she was trying to tell. But you remained strong and willed to begin the project at last. 

The office now looks as if an aggressive gust of wind had flown inside, not that it bothers you, you're more than fine working in a messy environment. 

You've been studying the blueprints you dug from the suitcase a while ago. It was confusing and frustrating the first ten times you read it and only got it more twisted with each try but you managed. You'd be lying if you said that snatching the piece of shit blue paper from the wall you pasted it to and scratching it to a miserable molecule of blue hell was not incredibly enticing. 

Though as any hard work bears its fruits, you finally deciphered it —at least most of it—

You nearly miss the knocking at the door pulling you back from your mind. "Come in," you say, almost in an automated manner, muffled by a piece of paper you shoved in your mouth earlier. 

"Time's up," announces a voice you are now quite used to. 

You turn around, paper in mouth, a pencil stuck behind your ear, shirt completely untucked, and the straps of the strange harness partially loosened. "Codpodal." You wave at him, self-awareness currently amounting to shameful zero. 

"What the fuck happened here?" His eyes wander around the clusterfuck you turned the office into, and, surprisingly enough, he looks actually bewildered. 

"Mmph, I wath thtudyin the bluepdi—" 

Before you can say another barely understandable word, he walks dangerously fast to you and yanks out the paper in your mouth. 

"Are we not feeding you enough for you to start eating this shit?" He swats the slimy paper near your face, glaring at you a vicious pair of grey eyes.  

"You did deprive me of one meal yesterday," you answer, too high on the passionate rush you get from resolving dilemmas and mechanical problems to mind your responses. "But that's okay, just look at this!" 

You grab the paper from him and launch it away. Taking his hand in yours, you pull him closer to the wall you've been working on, now covered with multiple scrolls of blueprints. "It took me a little to organize it in procedural order, but it's finally come together." 

Your eyes scan it with great pride and joy.

"I see you've grown some as well," he adds. 

Your sight is still intently glued to the marvelous piece before you, though his comment makes you chuckle in confusion. "What do you mean?" You turn to him and raise an eyebrow. 

He is closer than you expected, making you flinch back slightly. And to make matters worse, Corporal Levi lifts his hand to your eye level, and you realize yours is still wrapped around his. 

Your eyes widen and you instantly let go to pull it back. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry. I-I was too carried away with this and I... I didn't—" The blush on your face grows hotter with each attempt to explain your actions. 

"And we are back to square one." Much like the past and countless bashful displays of yours, he seems to be entertained. He eyes your face carefully, and after he is done with his inspection, his gaze travels down to your body, frown plastering on his face as soon as he sees your clothes. 

"Make yourself presentable  _again._ You'll have some alone time with Squad Leader Hange, so if you're going to suffer for an hour, at least do it without looking like you get into bar-fights for a living."

You look down to your messy shirt and dangling belts from the harness, but his statement makes you raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean with ' _suffer for an hour'_?" 

He clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes, not in disdain —as much as it seems like it— but in what it can almost be perceived as pity. "You'll see." 

You are not sure you like the sound of that, but you nod, suspiciously, but you nod, anyway. "Well, what now?" 

One of his eyebrows perks up as if the answer was evident. "What now?" He turns around to face the entire office. "What happens now, is that you won't leave this place until it's in better shape than that of how you initially found it."

Your brows knit together in frustration. "But it's already breakfast time," you counter, throwing your arms in the air and slamming them back to your sides. 

"Exactly." 

Your stomach proceeds to voice its own opinion on the matter with a loud groan that sends your and Corporal Levi's stare at it. 

You two look at each other afterward, you wearing a pleading expression, and him not giving a single fuck. Or at least that's what it appears. 

He sighs and looks away. "You gather the papers on the floor and I'll begin with the windows." 

A hopeful glint flashes through your eyes, and you'd smile if he wasn't forcing you to clean. "Sounds like a plan to me." 

You walk to the pile of letters scattered near the desk and crouch to start picking them up. With the corner of your eye, you notice that Corporal Levi walks past you, followed by the sound of the door opening, then closing. 

Your head jerks up and your snap around to realize that he just left the room. You sigh, "Jerk, so much for helping me." 

A couple of minutes go by as you continue picking up your mess, and just when you have completely lost any hope of him returning to aid you to spruce up, the door opens and closes once more. 

You turn around and nearly jump at the... _unexpected_ attire he is sporting.

A white cloth is tied around his head, matching the equally white handkerchief covering his nose and mouth. He's no longer wearing his jacket and instead, he has a simple shirt with the sleeves rolled up. 

"What?" he snaps, bored eyes fixed on you as he crosses his arms, bringing the dusters he's holding in each hand close to his face. 

You are not sure if this is a lame attempt at comedy on his behalf, and if it is, it's working wonders. You want to laugh, laugh so fucking hard.  _What the hell is he wearing?_ you wonder and purse your lips to prevent yourself from bursting in a fit of laughter. 

"Nothing," you say as you shake your head in hopes of getting rid of the urge to cackle to his face. 

He mutters something under his breath, but you don't catch onto it. He walks to the windows behind the desk and begins his labor, wiping the crystal panels carefully with his dusters. 

As you watch him, you remember the question you planned to ask him a while ago. Before you lose the bold touch in your speech, you ask, "Corporal?" You return your view to the papers on the floor and pretend you are deeply focused on picking them up rather than on worrying if questioning him is a good idea after all.  

"Yes?" 

Too late. 

"I was... I was wondering something," you begin, shifting the sole of your boots nervously. "In one of my mother's letters, she, uh... talks about you." 

He stays silent. 

"So I noticed that you are actually kinda new around here.  _But..._ what I'm actually curious about, is how did you become corporal in the matter of a couple of months?" You dare to look at him, and to your surprise, he's already staring at you. 

"Will the answer make you work faster?" 

Just what you expected. Would it kill him to drop the sarcasm and speak like a decent human being for once? 

You meditate your answer thoroughly before speaking, "Yeah, I think so." It takes two to tango, and your steps are sharp. 

"Then I guess you'll end up skipping breakfast again." 

You roll your eyes again and groan. "Please, can't you tell me?" 

One of your most interesting characteristics is your stubborn sense of curiosity. If there's a question without an answer, it becomes an unscratchable itch in your brain until you are satisfied with your findings. And right now, the itch is more bothersome than ever before. 

"No," he replies, dry and emotionless. 

You drag a hand over your face. "Why not?" Now you have completely ignored your task. 

"Is the word 'no' not enough answer for you?" He turns around completely to face you. 

"No, it's not. So can you please tell me?" You walk closer to him. All of your strength is now forced into preventing yourself from blowing up, you certainly do not want to repeat last night. 

"No." 

 _Bastard_ , you think.

"Alright, alright." You nod, though not in agreement with what it seems to be his final answer. "But just know that it makes you look really suspicious, whatever you're hiding." You squint and inch closer to his face in an attempt to force the answer out of him. 

He leans in as well, arms crossed and reinstating the evident higher ground he holds over you with the small step back you give. "Fine by me." 

"I will find out," you warn, sticking your index at his face to assert your point. 

"I would like to see that. But I doubt you're willing to sacrifice another meal for it." 

His words snap you out from the detective-ish frenzy that nearly costs you another morning spent in hunger. "Fine, I  _will_ find out... but not right now." You return to your place in front of the desk to continue tidying up. 

You two resume their own work in silence after he clicks his tongue, but as luck would have it, it's quickly broken by the thunderous sound of the door slamming open against the wall. 

Being shaken out of your peace so suddenly, you and Corporal Levi snap at the entrance with an aggressive turn and glare at the absolute idiot who thought it was neat to barge in like that. 

"What the fuck?" both of you bark in unison. 

The chorused response makes you exchange weirded-out looks with him, though the shock of coincidence is short-lived because of a loud cackle. 

"I knew you were hiding her somewhere!" Squad Leader Hange strides inside with utter disregard of your and Corporal Levi's distaste. "But it's my turn to have little miss (Y/n) for myself." 

Maybe it's too early to judge, but you are beginning to understand what Corporal Levi meant with suffering at her hands. She has yet to prove what she's actually capable of, and by the sound of her demand, you surmise it'll be nothing short of terrifying. 

"She's not a plaything for you to torture, four-eyes," Corporal Levi says and crosses his arms, now glaring daggers at her, which she gleefully ignores. 

"Oh, come on! I would never do such a thing." She walks up to you and wraps an arm around your neck. She pulls you closer to her and tightens her grip while her free hand cups your cheeks and squishes them. "At least not to her." 

"Thankth, I geth...?" you manage to say through the almost painful clutch on your face. Your eyes then jump to Corporal Levi as a silent plea to talk some sense into the madwoman. 

He sighs, arms still crossed. "Let her go, Hange." 

Before she decides to comply, her arm hugs your neck with additional force, pushing a breathless croak out of your closing throat. 

"Alright, let's get going, (Y/n). Titans are not going to study themselves!" She lets you go and instead grabs your wrist to drag you behind her. "I can't wait to show you my latest research," she says amidst a bellowing laugh. 

She's stronger than you accounted for. No matter how hard you try to yank your hand back, her grasp is as firm as a stubborn horse. "Wait, w-what about breakfast?" Your head twists quickly to face your wild card once more, dear Corporal Levi. 

He doesn't say a word and just stares at your helpless self being pulled away. In fact, you can tell with an educated guess, judging by the small inch his eyebrows are raised, that he's enjoying the show. 

"Who has time for food when you can feed your brain with knowledge?" Squad Leader Hange affirms, swatting her free hand through the air with excitement. 

And so, the last thing you see before getting abducted by deranged incarnated, is Corporal Levi's smug expression and what appears to be the tiniest smirk ever conceivable creeping on his lips. 

_NOT AGAIN!_

 

* * *

 

You feel you've been sent back to school.

Blackboard upholstered with chalky-white drawings and words. You are sitting at the bare front of the deserted classroom, witnessing Squad Leader Hange prance and articulate like a maniac before you. She's been going on and on, and on, and on with a passionate rant about Titans, which she narrates like a mother bragging their child's latest achievement to her friends. 

Despite the gruesome nature of the subject, you find her tellings rather morbidly entertaining, albeit you're not entirely sure you can stand her calling the Titans her " _sweet babies_ " or " _gigantic darlings_ " anymore. 

You've probably missed a galore of the...  _creative_ nicknames she refers to the Titans with, as for all the time you have been here, most of it has been consumed inside your mind. 

The letters have visited your thoughts often enough to be considered their sole focus. They remain in the spotlight of your interest, but as much as you give them circles, twists, and turns, you can't shake away the strange feeling that something is off about them. And if something definitely is, then there'd be plenty to unravel. 

The random lines and dots decorating the text, numbers that make no sense even with a supposed context you are sure it never existed. The mysteries pile themselves in your infinite queries, and you can't figure a single one. 

You scratch your head in frustration and drag your hands down your face. _It all just seems like an uncrackable code,_ you think. 

Your brows furrow.

 _Code_ , replays in silence, and your eyes widen and dress with blazing sparkle. 

"They are codes," you mutter, looking with a frenzied stare at every object in the room. 

"What was that?" Squad Leader Hange stops mid-sentence and glances at you.  

You shoot up from your seat and the chair is launched backward with a jarring screech. "They are codes!" 

You jump over the desk and rush outside the room. Looking at either side, you quickly recall the route to your mother's office and sprint down the hall. 

But first, you need to take a small deviation. 

In a hurried set of turns around the hallways, your trek is completed when you slam the door open with unmeasured strength. 

Breathless and crazed, you barely manage to say, "They are codes."

Corporal Levi stares at you from his desk with a mixed look of irritation and confusion. 

You are not at all certain why Corporal Levi is your first confidant. But if there's one thing you know for sure, is that you are going to come upon something big. 

_Far more big than you can imagine._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Be careful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my dear Sherlock... 
> 
> Were my enigmas too puzzling? 


End file.
